What's a Year?
by Objective Mistress
Summary: What is a year? Is it just one solar cycle? Or is it a measure of time and space between people? This is the tale of that year long separation and reunion. Eventual B
1. Chapter 1

**Spoilers: **For potentially EVERY Bones episode so far. Excuse me for my laziness and refusal to be specific.

**Disclaimer: ** I once again, do not own Bones. I wished upon a star once, but I don't believe in wishes and neither does Dr. Brennan

_**Hey everyone! I just want to dive right into this one but I want to give a warning. This will have spoilers for the finale. If you haven't seen it yet and don't want to be spoiled, do not read! **_

_**By the way, Science Friday had a great segment last week on hoarders; I do believe this week's victim was based on Homer Collyer. He starved to death after being crushed by a booby trap, that he setup in paranoia, which dropped heavy objects on top of him. The police had to go in through the upstairs window to even get in! Just in case you are interested!**_

**B&B**

_"So Bones, here we are. What's all the mystery about?"_

_"I've been offered the chance to head up the Maluku Island project."_

_"Yeah, I heard… Daisy told Sweets, and Sweets told me."_

_"Oh I-… I'd like to accept."_

_"…I thought you already had."_

_"We've been partners for five years Booth; I wouldn't make a decision like this before talking to you-" _

_"Bones look, you don't need my permission okay? It's cool."_

"Y-You say that, but you won't look at me. You're the one who taught me the value of making eye contact… so please?"

_"Sorry… I just don't do really good with change I guess."_

_"Better than I am…"_

"Pyramids are better at change than you are…it's a joke okay? I was being affectionate."

_"Ohhh… will you go back to the army?"_

_"It's what's best for me right now."_

_"I'll only be gone for a year-"_

_"-Me too. Ah so what's a year?"_

_"It's the time for the earth to make a full revolution around the sun."_

_"In the scheme of things, you know, the grand scheme just sayin' a year is just… you know… not too bad."_

_"Right."_

"Right."

_"We can come back, pick up where we left off. Nothing really has to change."_

_"No, things have to change... I taught you about eye contact, you taught me about evolution. So… here's the change."_

_"To change…"_

Temperance Brennan never had difficulty saying goodbye; despite its derivation from 'God be with ye.' Dealing in absolutes, hover, was generally unwise. _Never_ was misleading, as the farewell she had just uttered tore her apart; metaphorically of course.

_"Sorry, I couldn't get a pass. I had to sneak off the base to come say goodbye. Listen Bones… you gotta be really careful in that Indonesian jungle okay? _

_"Booth… in a week you are going to a war zone… please don't be a hero… please just… don't be you."_

_"…One year from today… we meet at the reflecting pool on the mall. Right by the-"_

_"-Coffee cart. I know. One year from today."_

She boarded on to first class, settling into the spacious seat. A foot rest popped up with a press of a button as she rolled her shoulders to relieve the stress of her short day.

"Dr. Brennan!" a delighted Daisy Wick squealed. "Oh. My. Gosh! They upgraded me to first class and I get to sit next to you! What a crazy coincidence huh?"

Brennan suppressed an annoyed groan; she was looking forward to getting some space from the always-jubilant and overly-energetic Ms. Wick. After all, she would have to spend a full year with the young anthropologist.

_I wonder if she ever sleeps…_

"How cool is first class?"

She glared at Daisy as she buckled the lap belt and kicked the footrest back in.

"But you wouldn't say cool… you would say dignified… or something."

"Flight crew prepare for takeoff," the static-filled speaker said.

She felt weary and beaten down. Booth had snuck off base to see her; hopefully his visit wouldn't garner too much trouble. He was running to danger anyway! He had a son! No child deserved to lose a parent! She knew what it was like to lose both parents, halving the pain still was nothing easy to handle.

Booth was still unaware of the college fund she had setup for Parker when he fell into a coma post brain surgery. She couldn't help but think of what would happen if he had stayed comatose; or now, to be injured in a volatile and dangerous region.

_He could_ _die you know. Or become crippled, tortured…_

He was always supposed to be there; like a slab of immoveable granite that weathers even the harshest conditions.

_But yet, you are the one running…_

Booth was a warrior; a Spartan of sort. He was fine living in bare-bones conditions to fight and train others. Spartans only received his name on his tombstone if he was killed in battle. Was Booth this way? Did he desire to die as a valiant hero protecting others?

_You might never see him again…_

The plane took off from Reagan National, banking steeply to avoid the Washington D.C. 'no fly zone.' It jetted west, putting miles of vertical and horizontal space between Brennan and Booth. Afghanistan was only approximately 7300 kilometers apart; not relatively far.

"Good afternoon," the pilot's gruff tenor voice spoke over the speaker. "Looks like it will be smooth sailing from here to Jakarta. The flight will be about 21 hours and 41 minutes, arriving at 11:58 PM local time. Enjoy the ride."

_No turning back now…_

Brennan felt tears coming on; she quickly covered her eyes with the free sleeping mask to hide her emotional anguish. Ms. Wick was nosily chatting with a perky flight attendant; hopefully she would be oblivious to her sniffling.

_You said "I love you," to Dr. Hodgins, but you couldn't even say it to Booth?_

How had she moved in to such an emotionally compromising position? Like a scientist examining the context of a discovery, she would take a few large steps back and apply a clinical eye to her life.

"Dr. Brennan?" Daisy prodded. "Are you asleep?"

"Not anymore," she lied, pulling off the eye-mask. She hoped that tears wouldn't be evident on her face.

"As both my role model and one of the most distinguished and honored anthropologists of all time… may I ask your advice?

"Sure…" she answered cautiously.

"Great!" Daisy bubbled. "So I broke up with Lancelot, I mean Lance. What do you think?"

Ms. Wick may be a bright anthropologist (why would she have hired her otherwise?), but she was certainly ignorant in some areas. Even Angela, her closest 'girlfriend,' didn't often solicit her for relationship advice. Quite frankly, counsel of this manner made her uneasy; it would be a fact less response, solely grounded in opinion. It wasn't that she wouldn't answer, but rather, the concern she felt for the quality of her response.

"I think that your romantic rift is logical considering the physical fit between you two," she said mater-of-factly.

"Do you think he'll wait for me?"

How long would Booth wait? She already pushed him away once, and he found a female companion within weeks. What if he found someone in the Army?

"I don't know, but I advise you to go through the preliminary material I have prepared for our trip."

"Yes Dr. Brennan!" Daisy mocked saluted, nodding eagerly.

_Booth would be saluting a lot in the coming year…_

Brennan turned in to the jazz radio channel aboard the plane reviewing the travel information to the dig site. They were flying to Jakarta, Indonesia via Tokyo, Japan; luckily, they didn't have to switch planes. Then, they would stay in the airport until 4:00 PM the next day, when they would board to Dili, Timor-Leste. They would then meet the rest of the team on the Maluku Islands by boat.

"Would you like anything to drink?" a flight attendant pushing a beverage cart said. But Brennan only saw the attendant's mouth move due to the jazz playing within her noise-cancelling headphones.

"Scotch," she said rather loudly. The alcohol would aid her sleep.

The attendant nodded, passing the scotch bottle and cup over Daisy.

Oh yes, she would need the sleep alright. She couldn't shake the look on Booth's face when they made eye contact for the final time. His jaw was firmly set, as if he were holding back something. Tears perhaps? Part of her desperately hoped that their separation would hurt him just as much as it would hurt her. She had a feeling it would; after all, he had professed his love to her.

_If only you had the courage, like him…_

Booth had the heart of a lion no doubt; if one were inclined to play with metaphors in such a way. He was a hero. He was a Christian hero, abiding by Christian morals. He was an Arthurian hero, chivalric and just. He certainly wasn't an anti (brooding) hero, as Angela had introduced her to with a pointless evening of some TV show called "Angel."

"Good evening passengers," a flight attendant announced over the loud speaker. "Tonight's movie is _The Garden State_ on channel 17. We will now dim the cabin lights."

Brennan typically kept herself very busy while flying; she always had chapters to compose for her novels, or something of use to read. But, with nothing better to do, she tuned to channel 17.

_The Garden State, _like many other movies, was a story of romance between an epileptic, pathological liar, and a man dealing with psychological movies. Like many tales, a theme of awakening and new awareness was woven through.

Unfortunately, the movie barely held her attention and she found herself drifting off until the movie's final scene. By this time, she had slumped back into the seat, her headphones hung lackadaisically, wilting off her head.

The main characters were in an airport, not unlike the one she had just recently departed from. The couple talked, embracing and finishing the movie off with a smoldering kiss.

Is that was meant to happen back in that airport? A kiss? Brennan had felt the pangs of want and desire for months now, perhaps she felt it even earlier. For months, she had been (and still was) celibate, and not by any enforced code as Angela had. Reluctantly, she had to acknowledge that she was waiting on Booth, even if she didn't have the audacity to make the first move.

Impatient and upset, Brennan slid her laptop out of its protective bag. She turned it, hiding it from the inquisitive Daisy's line of sight. She booted up, claiming the free Wi-Fi that first class and her large amount of frequent flier miles afforded.

_"8 New Messages," _the email browser read.

_From: Seeley Booth_

_To: Temperance Brennan_

_Bones! I don't know if you will still be able to use this email, but I figure they wouldn't take it from you for just a year of leave right? I'm leaving in a week; they say internet is hard to come by in the desert, so I don't know when I'll be able to email you next._

_I don't have much time, but now you have my new email address. Stay safe._

_Your Caring Partner,_

_Booth_

_Sergeant Major Booth, 1st Rangers lead the way_

Albeit the chaste manner of which the email was written, something about it was deeply intimate in nature. Perhaps she was reading too much into the words and making much ado about nothing.

"Ooo! Dr. Brennan! You have internet!" Daisy gushed, leaning deeply into Brennan's personal space to peer at the screen. "Oh and an email from Booth! Hey, would you mind if I checked my Facebook?"

Brennan cleared her windows, being sure to log out of anything private.

"Thanks so much!" the enthusiastic anthropologist raved.

_Just 365 days left of this…_

**B&B**

Admittedly, Sergeant Major Booth was having difficulty settling back in to the Army style of life. Although that fighting spirit and national pride never left you, it was easy to forget the woes of communal living in the barracks. He missed the personal space, and the freedom to do whatever he wanted, when he wanted. In a way, the Army was like having another mother; except this one paid you a crap wage, told you where to go, how high to jump, and could throw you in the brig if you refused. And for the record, the brig is much worse than sitting in the corner as far as punishments go. Not that he would know; his only trip to the brig was a brief visit.

After hitting the 'send' button on that email to Bones, Booth felt immediately guilty that he hadn't written more. "Not much time?" What kind of fool was he? Military life was full of "hurry up and wait" situations. All he had to do was become reacquainted with the military before shipping out. He was FBI; it's not like he spent his off time doing some desk job.

Luckily though, the FBI was willing to treat his deployment like they would an Army Reserve member; his job, office, (and hopefully, partner) would be waiting for him when he returned.

His decision had been so swift that he hadn't even gotten a going away party; not that it mattered.

"Sergeant Major Sir," a young Corporal entered the room. "The current officer in charge of insurgent apprehension would like to speak to you sir."

"Thanks and at ease," Booth walked towards the command center.

Sergeant Major was the highest enlisted rank in the Army. He was always was glad he didn't get sent off to Officer Candidate School (OCS); he liked the dirty work, the fighting, the soldier to soldier interaction. He wore the Sergeant major chevron on his upper arm; an insignia with three stripes on top and bottom, surrounding a five-pointed star. The Command Sergeant Major collar insignia (the U.S. coat of arms) was pinned to his uniform, signifying his rank further. His combat action pin sat upon his chest; a reminder of his performance under live fire and imminent danger.

Booth entered the office of Major Michael Ward, a distinguished Ranger veteran. He saluted as protocol demanded.

"At ease Sergeant Major, at ease." The Major rose from his desk, grasping Booth's hand in a firm and confidant handshake. "Welcome back to the Army."

"It is excellent to serve my country sir."

"Sit, would you kindly," Ward sifted through a nearby filing cabinet.

"Permission to speak freely sir?"

"Granted."

"Is there no one else that can train these soldiers as I can?"

Ward chuckled warmly. "Ah, you'd be surprised how difficult it is to find a combat veteran, still in fighting shape and in law enforcement. Yes, I know there are plenty of the type of guy I just described, but to get someone with your service record and FBI experience is... unique."

"I'm flattered sir."

"So tell me Sergeant Major Booth," Ward settled back down behind his desk. "What made you decide to rejoin for a year?"

"Don't you have my files sir?" Booth asked.

"Of course, but pieces of paper can only tell me so much!"

Booth already knew he was going to like this guy. In his days in the Army, one always ran into the commissioned officers that were trained to sit at desks, but instead ending up as an inadequate unit commander. Major Ward, was no such man.

"Well, I think that helping to save lives for a year is what's best for me."

"Got a kid?"

"A son, named Parker."

"Got a girl?"

He laughed. "No."

The hardened Major leaned over his desk, "Between you and me, your mouth says no, but your eyes are tellin' me somethin' completely different."

"It's complicated sir," he smiled.

"Well, I see no reason to hold you any longer. Briefs will be distributed closer to the date of deployment. You take it easy there."

Booth saluted, "Yes sir!"

He wandered over to the mess hall, looking for a bite to eat. He grabbed a cafeteria tray, swinging in to the empty queue. He just felt like he needed something in his stomach. Without on-base orders, Booth had hours of unoccupied time. He spent some at the firing range, becoming reacquainted with the weaponry, some meeting and greeting troops, and the rest, just sitting around.

Idleness always bothered him; he wasn't making any progress on base. He wasn't helping to train soldiers to be effective and make it out alive. He wasn't useful at the moment.

Just a week until he would ship out, and then just a few short months until he was back in Washington D.C. nabbing baddies.

_Just 365 days to go..._

**B&B**

_**Buckle you seat belts! Because this one is going to be a multi-chap! I really would love your feedback and reviews, it's the only way I can grow and improve. So review!**_

_**Next chapter: Booth ships out, Brennan settles into Maluku.**_

_**- Objective Mistress **_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones nor do I profit off of the time I put into writing this. I attribute my Maluku Islands research to Wikipedia, Google Maps, and prior knowledge.

**Things You Might Need to Know:**

- A hydraulic jump is a feature in open rivers that creates a current that you can sit stationary in while kayaking. One's such as "Charlie's Hole" in Great Falls, VA, (really close to Washington D.C.) can kill as it did in 2008. It was actually named for a man that was trapped in the current and dragged himself out underwater. I'm not that good of a kayaker, but I've put in under the falls, it's a good ride.

_**You guys are WAY too kind! I was really touched by the all the reviews and story alerts. Pressure is on! I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much as you enjoyed the last. Without any further ado, I present you with chapter two. Hey! That rhymed!**_

_**I apologize for errors, let me know if you see any so I can fix them.**_

**B&B**

The Maluku Islands, known more commonly as the "Spice Islands" to Europeans, were the destination of a very determined Temperance Brennan.

Famous for its nutmeg, cloves, mace, and other once exotic spices, the islands were an extremely popular destination for traders. Between 1200 and 1500 AD, the Venetian control of Mediterranean trade and trade with the Muslim states with overland connections to the Spice Islands gave them an iron monopoly. As a result of Western imperialism turned violent, many of the native island populations were killed in the Spice Wars of the 17th century. More interesting though, is the silver currency discovered in the region dating back to 200 BC.

Brennan and her team of anthropologists meet in Dili, Timor-Leste, and prepared to sail north towards the Banda Islands of Maluku.

"Be careful with the Raman spectroscope!" she called to one of the works loading their chartered boat. The man was obviously in pain, most likely suffering from a bulging disk from manual labor. The team couldn't risk their research being postponed by an incompetent accident.

"Lady," the laborer grumbled in a broken sort of English, "I see no Ramen noodles."

"I don't know what that means, but you are holding a Raman spectroscope," Brennan corrected, "named after Sir Chandrasekhara Venkata Raman of India. It measures low-frequency modes in a system by inelastic scattering of monochromatic light from-"

"That's quite enough Dr. Brennan," Dr. Curtis Mays approached.

A biological anthropologist, she really never cared for the man personally. While he had the potential to be fantastically brilliant, he was often overly concerned with the opinions and perceptions of others; he always tried to be on good terms with everyone, and, on more than one occasion, altered work to avoid controversy. In Brennan's opinion, this made for a poor scientist and quite frankly, he was what Booth once called a "moron" most of the time.

"Let the poor man do his job! It doesn't entail worrying about what we intend to do," he patted her fondly on the shoulder.

Mays' hand remained on her shoulder almost possessively. She fought back the urge to gag at the thought of him having any sort of attraction to her.

"Dr. Mays, stop brushing my scapula with your distal phalanges. It's unwarranted and unprofessional."

"Such a joker huh?" a Cheshire grin spread about his face as an anthropological assistant eyed the interaction questioningly.

With more words highly unnecessary, Brennan pushed past the despicable Mays, and supervised the rest of the loading procedures. The boat was to set sail at dawn. The journey would take all night and by morning, the crew could begin the 7 kilometer hike to the site.

The Banda Islands of the Maluku were truly beautiful. With a population of only 15,000, the Banda were renowned for scuba diving and snorkeling. She wouldn't be working the entire year; perhaps she could make time to enjoy the tropical climate. The Banda were also volcanically active; another thing that could certainly provide a distraction.

"Dr. Brennan?" Keith Merrill, a young anthropology student from UCLA emerged from the large chartered yacht. "Everything is ready to go."

She nodded, striding up the gang plank and to the small cabin that the team members managed to squeeze themselves into. It reminded her of a spelunking trip that she took during her time at Northwestern University, in which a burly football player tried to squeeze into a feature dubbed "the milkshake"; a tight shaft that led to the vertically compact "pancake room." After managing to force his shoulders into the narrow passage, the man promptly panicked with claustrophobia, dramatically proclaiming that "there was no way in hell he was getting out alive."

"Good morning," Brennan looked out about the twelve member team. "Here begins our excavation and study of the inter-hominoid species found in the area. From here to our destination, is approximately 365 kilometers, or 227 miles. Traveling at 30 knots, we will be there by 11:00 AM, and unloaded by 11:45 AM."

She surveyed the group, receiving an overly excited thumbs up from Daisy.

"Full briefs will take place once we have hiked to the site, and established our camp. Does anyone have anything useful to say?"

Mays stood, "I for one, and exuberantly honored to serve-"

"We are not serving; this is an all volunteer body."

He smiled in a sickeningly sweet manner, "-and I look forward to _getting to know_ each and every one… of… you." He smiled once again at Brennan.

Dismissing the assembly, Brennan found a cozy space in the bow. While she was not easily nauseated (how many mutilated corpses had she seen in her life?), the loss of control over personal motion on the high seas always disturbed her.

Gathering the group together and properly convening all the quintessential gear took longer than she had originally intended; the project had lost nearly a week in the confusion in Timor-Leste. Luckily, one week was inconsequential to a full year of planned research. The remains however, couldn't wait. The Maluku Islands have a climate similar to one of tropical rainforests; precipitation was something to be expected and dealt with.

The group that found the remains called Brennan while she was in Jakarta, informing her that they had taken precautions to prevent erosion damage to the bones. She, however, was skeptical on what measures exactly they had taken. Like the particular way that she required FBI forensics teams to conduct themselves with the utmost care not to compromise the remains, the man's lack of detail was troubling. Were the remains secured? Were they safe?

Rummaging through her bag, she pulled out a Cliff bar, tearing off a corner into her mouth. She chewed the grain bar experimentally; sampling the texture.

_"So, going to Malulu is worth more?_

_"Maluku…yes. The murders will never stop, but this find has real, finite value. I'd be able to answer questions about our origin, evolutionary tract. It has implications for history, science…"_

_"Listen… you're allowed to make life changes…without picking a fight with you old life."_

_"But I need a break from that life…I'm worried all the time. Worried that Booth might get hurt on a case, and I couldn't prevent it. Worried… about what our… partnership means."_

_"So you want to get away from Booth?"_

_"No, it's just…I just need some perspective so that I can view my life with some objectivity."_

_"Have you talked with him about it?"_

Although she had taken literal steps away and across the world, Brennan didn't feel more objective or less worried. In fact, she felt just the opposite. Like a kayaker, trapped in a hydraulic, she could feel the undercurrent of anxiety drawing her in. Helpless in a river such as that, one has no choice but to succumb to the tendrils of dark worry.

"Dr. Brennan?" Daisy jumped excitedly into her personal space. "Can I sit in here with you?'

_So much for peace and quiet…_

"That would be acceptable Ms. Wick."

Daisy looked curiously out the window; she must be eyeing the dark clouds forming on the horizon. "Do you think it is going to rain?'

"Dark clouds typically adumbrate rain or adverse weather conditions," Brennan said. "Adumbrate meaning to foreshadow or-"

"-Prefigure."

"Sorry if I'm explaining too much or seeming phlegmatic, meaning-"

"-Not easily excited to action or display of emotion or apathetic."

"That's right. It's just been a long journey here."

"Oh, and you miss Booth," immediately with great gusto, Daisy clapped her hands to her mouth. "I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to bring up anything sensitive, not that you can't handle it. No, that didn't come out right, what I meant is that we're all tired but were excited to go on and-"

"Ms. Wick," she broke the girl's rambling speech. "I understand, you've said quite enough."

She was already beginning to feel sick in the churning seas. Without a mirror of any type, Brennan couldn't sure if her feelings were showing outwardly.

"I see what's wrong!" Daisy proclaimed. "You're sea sick! I can fix that!"

"That's not necessary-"

"Too late!" she pulled a box out of her bag. "Here, take a motion sickness patch."

"I'm assuming scopolamine through skin absorption?" Brennan eyed the patch cautiously.

"Yes! It will make you feel better," Daisy smiled. "I want to go watch us leave, feel better Dr. Brennan!"

As suddenly as she entered, Daisy ran off to another area of the boat.

Brennan looked at the small patch in her hand. The side effects of dry mouth and blurry vision were certainly better than vomiting all over a crew member.

_Unless the target of that vomit is Mays…_

She placed the patch behind her ear, closing her eyes to relax. She said it herself; the trip would take seven long hours on the sea to complete. With storms a possibility, Brennan could only hope she could pass out or fall into a short coma to avoid the traumatic experience. Giving into her desires, she fanaticized that Booth was with her now, saying something funny about work or some odd reality television show he would watch weekly.

But she was on a boat. In the middle of the Banda Sea. Alone. Seasick. Waiting for the seasickness patch to take effect.

Perhaps the patch was a sort of peace offering. Perhaps she could live with Daisy Wick yet.

_359 more rotations of the earth…_

**B&B**

Why did the Army have to cut off your hair? It's not like Booth's hair was long in the first place, not he had a head with nothing more than the spiky signs of new hair growth.

And why did Army flights always have to be do damn bumpy? It sucked enough that there weren't even real seats. Oh here, have some turbulence! It's free!

There was nowhere at this moment, that Booth would rather be than at his apartment with a bag of Thai food and his one and only partner.

_Can we even be considered partners anymore? We aren't working together…_

He was alone in the barracks; tomorrow, he would meet the new trainees for the four week course. He lay on his cot, looking at the uninteresting ceiling. The bases in Afghanistan were really the "camps," they were named for; with the US just getting settled, facilities weren't complete.

Feeling decidedly Bones-sick and homesick, he reached up into his breast pocket. Inside, was three photos: one of him and Parker at the park, him and Bones (taken by Angela) during a post-case celebration, and Bones all by her lonesome. He wouldn't even have those photos if Angela hadn't insisted that she take them in the first place; Bones was undoubtedly beautiful, but also incredibly modest. Yeah, she would openly admit that she had nice "symmetry," and she was extremely conformable in her own skin, but yet, there was this sort of shyness about her and photos.

"Whatcha' got there Mr. Sergeant Major?" Master Sergeant Edward Herring approached, glancing at the cherished photos in Booth's hands.

"Just some pictures, hey, I thought someone said you were setting up the running route for tomorrow?"

"Nah, I left that to Alvarez. Now stop sidesteppin' and be a good kiddy and share what you got!" Herring made a playful nab for the photos.

"Only if you promise to play nice," Booth laughed.

"Okay boss, you got my attention."

"This is my son, Parker," he pointed to the young Booth.

"Nice lookin' kid you got there. He's gonna be a ladies' man someday!" Herring nudged him. "After his old man huh?"

"Alright," Booth clutched the photos of Bones to his chest. "I'll only show you the next two if you promise to keep it PG. Got it?"

"Scout's honor."

"Sure sure. This is my partner and I, Bones."

"Woah!" Herring exclaimed. "What kind of guy are you to deserve someone like _her_?"

"A really lucky one."

"I bet she's one heck of a girlfriend."

"Oh, she's not my girlfriend…."

"Why not? You gay?"

"No way!" Booth said defensively.

"Not like it matters with 'don't ask don't tell' and all."

"Herring get this straight. I am not gay."

"But you ain't involved with that lovely lady? What did you say her name was-"

"-Bones. I call her Bones."

"Kinda an odd name, don't cha think?"

Booth chuckled, "Bones isn't her real name. She's Temperance, Dr. Temperance Brennan. She's brilliant; by far the smartest person I have ever met."

"So she's a doctor? She ever treat you?" Herring joked.

"Only if I were dead."

Herring gave him a funny look.

"She's a forensic anthropologist, she studies bones. While I was in the FBI, we would identify and find the killers of bones found."

"So no medical stuff?"

"Well," Booth began, "she did fix my back up once. It gives me trouble."

"So where's this beautiful chick now?'

"The Maluku Islands."

"Doin' what?"

"Studying some inter-something-or-other remains."

"Boss, I gotta go make sure our fresh meat gets somethin' decent in their bellies before tomorrow. See you bright and early at 0500 hours."

Herring… Booth shook his head with a chuckle. Okay, so the guy might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was a good guy to talk with, a combat experienced Ranger, and (from what he had heard) a level headed solider. As far as company goes in the Army, one could hardly do worse.

Like he had for the first few nights of his deployment, Booth wandered to the mess alone. It was a great way to clear his head.

He missed Bones more than he could have ever imagined. Okay, so he just admitted to imagining about missing Bones; it was difficult not to. After all, he was in the middle of nowhere in the Middle East.

Midway to the mess, Booth turned; his hunger seemed sapped from him.

_She affects you so much, don't you see?_

He still felt guilty for that terrible email he wrote her earlier in the week. Could all he really muster was ten freaking sentences? Needing to do something, he set off to the base's shooting range. He selected a sniper rifle and put the protective earmuffs on.

Sniping took all of one's concentration; it required mental calm and physical calm to control one's breathing and precise aim. It was as much as an art as it was a focus exercise. Focus is exact what Booth needed right now; to be able to pick a point on a distant target, and hit it with great accuracy.

_It's too bad you aren't as good at communicating as you are at shooting._

In an instant, three shots from the semi-automatic rifle were propelled out with exactitude. One bullet after another pummeled the paper target, leaving only one hole through.

Having had enough, Booth returned the rifle and walked back towards the barracks. The Afghani night was still; one would never know that one was situated directly in the middle of a warzone.

_Enough of the whining solider!_

That's it; no more ruminating for the evening. He was _excited_ for tomorrow. He couldn't wait to teach young soldiers something that it took him years to obtain the knowledge. He was ready to save lives, and nothing was going to stop him from accomplishing that goal. Nothing.

_Just 359 days and you are out…_

**B&B**

_**Thanks for reading. The "milkshake" and "pancake room" are both features in Whiting's Neck Cave in West Virginia. Tons of visitors, but it is a great place for beginner cavers to do some rope work. The football player incident was based off a caving trip my cousin took at John's Hopkins. **_

_**I 3 reviews! They really do energize the fingers for typing!**_

_**- Objective Mistress**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Okay holy crap! Tons of reviews! I'm totally flattered! You have no idea! Tons of alerts also, I'd really love to hear from all the silent readers out there; telling me what you liked and what you didn't is the only way I can improve. **_

_**Thanks everyone who corrected "Wick" to "Wicks," I slammed my head against a wall (figuratively) when I realized I had made such a stupid misteak (yes I spelled that incorrectly on purpose. Humor me!).**_

_**Just as a word of warning, obviously, I won't be covering every day of their year. After this chapter we will probably jump forward a few weeks or something. **_

_**Enjoy!**_

**B&B**

_Day 7_

**B&B**

The Maluku Team reached the dig-site in the late afternoon. The site was truly all it was said to be. The nearly-perfect set of inter-hominoid skeletal remains lay partially unearthed in the Indonesian mud.

After determining that the preliminary party had sufficiently secured the site, Brennan dismissed the anthropology and archeology team members, leaving the technology crew to setup the computer systems and the satellite uplink to start work immediately tomorrow morning.

Just one hundred yards from the body, were seven circular thatched huts, sans climate control, electricity, or running water. She picked the hut closest to the site, dropping her bags along the wall. The interior housed two straw sleeping pallets and two windows with a straw shade. Brennan relinquished her tight grip on her sleeping bag, causing a large thump as it hit the ground. She unrolled the clean ensemble of bag and mattress pad out, placing the two in a single mosquito-proof netted slip-screen.

An excited gasp came from the doorway. "Dr. Brennan, can I room with you?" Daisy Wick looked practically constipated with welled up excitement.

Brennan mustered a weary nod, and motioned to the vacant "bed."

"This is so awesome! Me and you, together! It's like a sleepover, but for an entire year!"

She winced at the pitch and volume of the young anthropologist's voice.

"Oh too loud?" Daisy's voice dropped significantly. "I can talk more quietly…"

"That's fine."

"Sorry, I'm just so excited to start tomorrow; I don't think I'll be able to sleep a wink!" She unpacked her things neatly. "Have you ever felt like that?"

"Yes…" Brennan smiled, recalling fond memories of digs past. "My first excavation in Brazil… I barely slept as we traveled and began preliminary examination of the remains. But after two days, the lack of sleep…" she giggled in a non-Brennan like manner, "I collapsed from exhaustion."

"Were you okay?" Daisy rushed to her side as if her mentor was presently ill.

"I am perfectly fine now," she shrugged her off. "But despite your excitement, be sure to rest; it would slow down the excavation without you."

Daisy grinned, "That's such a nice thing to say! Well, in a logical and rational sort of way…" she seemed to look out into the distance. "I'm going to explore a bit," she said without warning. "Would you like to come?"

"I'm fine thank you. I'd like to type some documents up to send out promptly after the satellite uplink is live."

"Suit yourself!" the peppy anthropologist bounced out. "One more thing…" she popped her head through the hut's entryway, "thanks for the advice."

"Anytime Ms. Wick."

Brennan pulled out her laptop, thankful that it was still charged from the flight to Jakarta. She had something very important to type out; something that couldn't wait. Of course, this document in question was not related to the excavation at all. She needed to email Booth back as soon as possible.

It was bad enough that she didn't respond right away while she had the internet connection on the plane. She just felt sucker punched at the time; it hadn't truly sunk in that she and Booth wouldn't see each other for another year.

But what to say? His email was so painfully short; she had practically nothing to respond to. She would have to talk mostly about herself and synthesize questions to ask. She could say that the team arrived safely; yes, he would enjoy knowing that she was safe. Should she describe the beauty of the Maluku Islands, or the excitement for the impending work? What about Ms. Wick, or the rest of the team? Booth only knew Daisy anyway, and the last person he would want to hear about would be a creep like Mays.

Suddenly, the image of Booth arriving on the site to shake down the arrogant Dr. Curtis Mays appeared in her mind's eye. He would threaten him to keep his grubby hands of her or… else. That though of such protection irrationally warmed her; his guardian manner towards her was simply a manifestation of caring. Could it be a demonstration of his love also?

"Dear Booth"

No, too formal.

"Seeley Booth"

No, she deleted it. She never called him 'Seeley.' 

"Booth"

Simple, but effective.

The rest of the letter progressed in a manner much like this; an internal struggle on what exactly to write. Why did communication have to be so difficult?

_Booth, I love you. I want to be in a romantic relationship with you. Go home now and I'll meet you there ASAP._

Brennan scowled at what she truly desired to write.

She saved the email as a draft, and shutdown before she ran completely out of battery charge.

"Isn't the sunset breathtaking?'

She jumped at the voice, looking about to discover its source. Through the window, leaned the smug looking Mays. The man really wasn't _that_ discussing; he had acceptable BMI and decent symmetry. His jaw line, however, was extremely weak; nothing like the chiseled square features of Booth. She wasn't being biased, but a strong jaw line was a desirable trait in mates as it often pointed to higher testosterone levels.

_See? Booth would be an excellent mate…_

"May I come in?" he tried to flash a sultry smile, but ironically, it only repulsed her further.

"No you may not Dr. Mays," Brennan tried to make herself look busy; perhaps he could just leave.

"Please, call me Curtis," he smiled.

"That would be unprofessional," she glowered, "I am felling quite hypnagogic and am preparing to retire for the evening."

"Well…that's just _perfect_…"

"Oh Dr. Mays!" Daisy stepped in the nick of time. "Are you ready for tomorrow?"

"Quite," he paused, observing the two.

"Dr. Mays will be leaving now," Brennan shot her famous death-glare at the man.

A graduate student just said that the glare of an angry Dr. Brennan could peel the flesh of bones. Another student commented that this was how she was able to clean her specimens to such pristine condition. It was akin to pummeling prey with fire and ice, strike after progressive strike.

"See you bright and early Temperance."

"Don't call me Temperance, Dr. Brennan is the only acceptable denomination that I will respond to."

"You know you like it," he winked, leaving with a look over his shoulder.

"I'm just so so _so _tired," Daisy dropped to the sleeping bag, quickly, almost as if changing the subject.

The nature of the Brennan v. Mays interaction couldn't have possibly passed over her head, what, with her degree in psychology and her ability for anthropology.

Somehow, the young woman's rapid speech made Brennan doubt her drowsiness. She still wondered if Daisy every slept at all; this would be a perfect time to test that hypothesis.

Brennan slipped into the mosquito slip-screen and into her sleeping bag.

"Good night Dr. Brennan…"

"Good night Daisy…"

Sleep found her, the tropical air rocking her to sleep to the land of dreams.

_"Booth!" she ran towards him._

_He pulled her into an embrace; she reveled in the feeling of nearness._

_"I missed you so much," Brennan nuzzled further into his shoulder._

_"I missed you too."_

_"I-I wanted to say that," she said._

_Suddenly, the all the color drained from his face._

_"W-What's wrong?" she cradled his jaw._

_Booth swallowed uncomfortably, looking down towards his stomach._

_Brennan looked down; sticky red blood stained her shirt. The blood gushed from a bullet hole in his abdomen._

_"I-I'll be okay," he shuddered._

_She instinctively applied pressure to the wound; he winced at the pressure._

_"No, you need urgent medical attention."_

_"I just need to sit down…" he collapsed to the floor._

_"No Booth!"_

"Dr. Brennan! Dr. Brennan! Wake up!" She bolted upright, smacking her head on one of the aluminum mosquito net supports.

Brennan suspired heavily with relief; it was just a dream and nothing more.

"You were screaming…I even grabbed the pamphlet that Dr. Hodgins prepared for you in case that you were attacked by fauna…"

She was still greatly perturbed by the dream, it seemed so real.

"What's wrong Dr. Brennan?"

"J-Just a nightmare, I have them occasionally. G-Go back to sleep," she persuaded.

"I just need to make sure you are ready and prepared for tomorrow."

"I'll be fine Ms. Wick."

"Call me Daisy. While it may be unprofessional, we aren't working right now and, I anticipate that we will become closer as the excavation proceeds. Are you sure you are okay Dr. Brennan?"

"P-Please, don't call me Dr. Brennan. You may call me Bren, or Brennan; whatever you prefer."

_358 more nights like this…_

**B&B**

"Good morning soldiers," Sergeant Major Booth paced in front of the first Terrorist Investigation and Apprehension Training class. "This isn't boot camp anymore."

The Army sent him half a dozen squads getting ready for combat deployment for the four week training. It included exercises, lectures, and plenty of physical conditioning to keep them ready for the action they would see out in the wilder providences of Afghanistan, or the "desert" as they troops liked to call it.

"This here is Master Sergeant Herring; he will be assisting me in training you guys in techniques to better track and get the baddies. We've got a dozen crew that you will also see around in this training."

"Alright," Herring called in what Booth dubbed his 'command' voice. "Before we start with a two mile run, anyone have somthin' to say for the good of the cause?"

"Umm, sir?" a young Private spoke up.

"Private Bartlett, can it!" the squad's Staff Sergeant scolded.

"Booth walked up to the Staff Sergeant, "I'll take care of it…"

"-Marks. Staff Sergeant Marks."

He nodded. "Private Adam Bartlett," Booth read the kid's nametape.

"Sir-"

"Don't call me sir, I work for a living." The unit chuckled. "And besides, I don't get paid enough for that. What's your question?"

"What are your qualifications?"

"Bartlett! Respect the man!" Staff Sergeant Marks wailed again.

"It's a legitimate question," Booth stepped closer to the trembling private. "I was a Ranger sniper with many recorded kills. I was also in numerous campaigns. More recently though, I was a Special Agent in the FBI. Good enough for you?'

Bartlett nodded.

"Alright, running on me! Two miles let's go!" Herring yelled, taking off at a brisk jog.

Booth followed behind the mob, keeping the stragglers moving. Running was always a great way to clear his mind; it was an almost mindless activity. Bones hadn't emailed him back yet. It had been almost a week, what if something happened? Those planes over there weren't exactly safe, but there weren't any plane crashes in the last week. She was going to Mapopoo (or whatever) by boat, probably not a big one either.

The unit thundered over the 'finish line,' gasping for breath.

"Drink up!" Booth hollered.

Still, why hadn't she responded? Did she not want to hear from him? What if she was angry?

"Where do you want to do with 'em boss?" Herring asked.

"Send them over to Specialist Ross Hardy, the ethics guy. He wants them do some 'proper treatment' course before we start the real stuff."

"You got it."

"Just have the squad leaders take them over to meeting room seven."

Seriously? Why hadn't she emailed him back? If only he had a phone number to call. Did they even have phones over there where ever she was?

Booth's thoughts preoccupied him to the point that he didn't even think to look where he was going.

"Oh god I'm worry," he looked up into a Captain's insignia. "I'm sorry sir-" he looked into the eyes of an obviously female officer, "-or ma'am." He saluted.

"At ease," she smiled. "You must be the new Sergeant Major on base."

"Sergeant Major Seeley Booth, at your service umm…"

"Captain Ella Foley, Army Preventive Medicine Officer," she smiled. "So you're the regnant of the new crew passing though?

"Something like that, you said preventive medicine?"

"I work to improve the health of our solders and prevent injury and disease, we need all the men and women we have out there."

"Tell me about it…"

"I hear you're FBI."

"Jesus, people gossip more there than the Jeffersonian…"

"The museum?' she looked puzzled.

"Yeah I used to work with a doctor there to catch the killers of decomposed remains found."

"Sounds like rewarding work to me," she checked her watch. "Hmm, I have an appointment in five, see you around?"

"Yeah, sure…"

"Have a nice day Sergeant Major."

Booth wasn't too sure how to regard this Army Doctor; by the looks of her, every guy on base had to paw after her. At least during his days in the service, let's just say that the guys weren't always as…_polite_ as they ought to be towards good looking females.

Herring strode over to him from the meeting room complex, "Boss, the ethics rock head is done, we done for the day?'

"Yeah, dismiss the guys for the evening. Tell 'em we start at 0500 to run."

"You got it."

They group was only now able to get to the juicy part of training. In his mind, the ethics class was something that Sweets would have instructed him and Bones on. Heck, maybe he did, they seldom paid any attention to what he had to say. He bed the boys didn't listen in the class anyway. Well, it was the only easy few hours of training they would receive; he hoped they made the most of it.

It was dinner time already. Booth wandered to the mess.

"Booth!" Herring called from a crowded table. "Saved you a seat!'

"One sec buddy," he grabbed a tray and sped through the line.

With a laugh, Herring scooted over to let Booth in.

"Wait a sec, is that Private Bartlett sitting alone?" he sat up straighter to get a better look at the kid.

"Probably, the guy's a total barrack rat!" one of the guys called from farther down the table.

"Where are you goin'?" Herring quirked a brow as the Sergeant Major stood up suddenly.

"To sit with him."

"You gotta be kiddin'!"

Just like any Army Mess hall, the place was chaotic. Guys every which way, shoving as much food as they could get down their throats. What could he say though? Being a soldier was a tiring and calorie consuming job!

"Private Bartlett," he half smiled, "is this seat taken?"

He respectfully shook his head.

"So, any reason why you aren't sitting with the rest of your unit?" Booth started in on the mystery meat before him

"I'm not much of a people person sir-"

"Hey now, what did we say about calling me sir?"

"Just something I do out of respect. What should I call you then?"

"Booth is good."

The Private nodded uncomfortably.

"You homesick?"

"N-No way-"

"-Believe it or not, it's not something to be embarrassed about. I felt the first way during my first deployment and trust me, I had nothing to miss back home."

"I see…"

"Missing someone in particular?" Booth probed. He knew guys like this; you just needed to crack them open a bit to get them to ease up.

"My brother…"

"Oh, see? There we go. Now, tell me about this brother of yours."

"Younger brother," Bartlett seemed tense. "I was the one who always looked out for him you know?"

"I get that," Booth acknowledged. After all, he spend countless hours trying to 'defend' Jared from the evils and harshness of the world; look how he turned out.

The two ate in silence, the sounds of the rowdy mess roaring over them.

"I don't know about you," Booth stood up, "but it's been a long day and I'm gonna hit hey. Bright and early tomorrow."

"You got it sarge!"

Booth ran by the internet area, logging in just to check his email.

_No new messages.  
_

Seriously? This wasn't like Bones at all. Okay, maybe the whole 'buried in work and loving it' thing was, but the lack of communication with him was really weird.

For a moment, he debated sending another email, but logged off, afraid to look to patronizing. He already knew that Bones could be like a skittish animal; when it came to conflict, she was fight or flight. More often fight than flight, but Maluku, totally flight. If he crowded her too much, he risked sending her off even farther than she already was. Maybe she just didn't care; maybe he already had his hopes up too high.

_358 more days for her to respond…_

**B&B**

_**Thanks again for all of your kindness. And to my silent readers who have this on alert: thank you for your quiet support. I'd love to hear what you have to say about the story. Review, I love the feedback.**_

_**-OM**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Hi there again. Thanks again for all the reviews; I'm still astounded by the number of alerts and I'm flattered by your support through reviews or silently (I do prefer reviews though *wink*). **_

_**Shout out to mendenbar, who kindly took the time to correct some of my grammar mistakes and typos. **_

_**All facts are from Wikipedia and the few anthropology books I picked up from Barnes & Noble.**_

_**According to Wikipedia (which is always right), it's Daisy "Wick" and has been changed. **_

**B&B**

_Day 13_

**B&B**

"This is Dr. Temperance Brennan, beginning surface examination of inter-hominoid remains."

The team spent the last week out in the burning sun to excavate the remains from the strong grasp of the hardened ground. Through the daily afternoon rain showers, sweat, tears (from when sweat came in contact with Daisy's eyes), and much more sweat, the team finally was able remove the skeleton. Carried bone by bone with careful touches, the figure was transported with the utmost care on to an examination table.

The examination room was nothing more than a hut, but it had many more high-tech gizmos tucked in. Builders put extra time and effort into completely waterproofing the roof, pouring a concrete floor (it was the only building the complex without a dirt floor), and wiring the high-powered lights and electrical outlets to fuel the investigation.

Of course, the facilities were a far cry from the Jeffersonian's pristine and modern accommodations, but they were sufficient for the research needed.

"Remains have noticeable resemblance to Homo floresiensis discovered in Flores, Indonesia," Brennan noted on the recording.

She often was able to find serenity in empirical examinations; to fully uncover all secrets; one had to give full attention. But in giving full consideration to one thing, once must momentarily forget others.

_Like wondering if that email you sent six days ago actually went through._

"The body is remarkably preserved; no hominoid remains from this time period have survived…or at least, been discovered."

At least the one-room examination building was quiet and empty. It's not that Brennan couldn't deal with people; her tolerance for extended social interaction had increased dramatically in the last few years. All the close quarter living and eating really didn't afford one any personal space. With past digs, it had taken her some time to adjust to this unusual style of lodging. With this dig, it felt as if she couldn't get home fast enough. But knowing that home didn't have what she really wanted…it made her feel that much better than she had chosen to go to the Maluku Islands.

"Features of said remains are both primitive and derived. Considering the proposition that Homo floresiensis contemporaneously with Homo sapiens, it is entirely possible that this specimen is the offspring of the two," Brennan paused. "But without even preliminary reports, my previous statement was complete speculation."

"Brennan?" Daisy stepped cautiously into the hut. "May I observe?"

"Certainly," she replied curtly.

Daisy stepped back to a corner, staying well out of the radius of Brennan.

"Remains are female; pelvic bones show the tell-tale signs of childbirth."

"Any ideas as to the date of the remains?" Daisy stood on tip-toes to get a better look.

Brennan placed the recording device on to the examination table, "Assuming that this is between H. sapiens and H. floresiensis, then they would have to have been from 38,000 and 13,000 years ago…but I don't feel comfortable with that theory though without evidence."

"Oh, well that's totally logical," Daisy backed up into a table, knocking a water glass to the concrete floor with a crash.

"Dr. Brennan!" Dr. Curtis Mays appeared, looking immediately to the recovering Daisy. "What on earth have you done!" he screamed, bristling with rage.

Daisy froze with fear; Brennan imagined that her heart rate was increasing.

"Who in the hell would let you near ancient human remains if you can't even keep a stupid water glass on a table? Get out this instant!"

"Stop!" Brennan yelled. "This is _my_ examination room and Ms. Wick is _my _intern. You have no right to come in here and start ordering her around." She spun to the door, "Daisy, freeze," she halted the escaping intern. "Mays, outside, we need to speak."

Despite the reprimandation, the biological anthropologist slinked out with a smirk.

"Daisy, if you would continue my examination beginning with comparisons to other species in the Homo genus."

"A-Are you sure I will be able to do this?"

"You will be fine."

How could Mays have the gall to treat Daisy in such a manner? Mays was a moron; he barely contributed to the excavation in the past six days. Who had even approved for him to come on this dig anyway?

"Dr. Mays, who do you think you are?" Brennan stormed out of the hut, her fists clenched in anger. It was the posture reserved for crime scenes contaminated by incompetent FBI techs.

"I think I'm a brilliant and talented biological anthropologist looking into the very beautiful eyes of Dr. Temperance Brennan," he said flirtatiously, kicking some pebbles around on the ground. "But, as one cannot live outside their own experiences, I'll never know the truth."

"Well then you are mistaken, as you certainly are _not_ brilliant and _not_ talented enough to see the impact of your actions?" she fumed.

"Come on Temperance, you know I had a point back in there."

"How many times have told you, not to call me Temperance!" she bristled.

"Fine _Dr. Brennan_."

"I can't have you humiliating my interns-"

"Everyone has to learn sometime to be more careful-"

"Apparently you haven't."

"What, my dear Lady Disdain! Are you yet living?"

Brennan's palm contacted Mays cheek with a smack. He was left stumbling by the sudden vicious blow. She preferred a closed fist when hitting someone, but as Booth once said: "An open hand doesn't leave a mark."

"Come on Dr, I was trying to lighten the mood with a bit of Shakespeare!" he clutched his reddened cheek.

"You could have certainly picked a more appropriate time to tout your literary knowledge."

"We're practically partners."

Partners? Brennan froze in mortification.

"Did I say something wrong?"

They would _never _be partners; she already had a partner. Heck, Booth was halfway across the world, but they were partners, never less. Not just partners, but best friends with the potential to be more. Did she want to feel more?

"You are nothing close to being my partner, and I already have one."

"Oooo," Mays mocked. "Anything you ought to tell me since we are working together?"

"That is none of your concern you prodding fool!"

"I think it's time I taught you a bit about manners," he rolled up a sleeve.

Brennan was ready to stand her ground, but Mays was a man of decent stature. Even with her extensive hand to hand combat practice, it would be a difficult fight if it indeed came to that.

"Umm, am I interrupting something?" Keith Merrill cleared his throat. Daisy had probably tipped the UCLA student off; they often conferred. They were the only two non-doctorate anthropologists accepted to be on the dig; she suspected that the two were able to connect over this.

"Nothing important," Brennan smoothed over her khakis.

"Well we could use you help, Jakarta's National Research Centre of Archaeology is trying to snatch Adi like they did to the Hobbit."

"Adi…Hobbit?" she asked quizzically.

"Hobbit, ya know, H. floresiensis. And Adi means precious in Indonesian; seemed kind of fitting for our little remains here," he said fondly.

"Thanks Mr. Merrill, it would be a disaster for the remains to be damaged in any way."

"Dr. Mays, the team could use your expertise at the site," Merrill respectfully said.

"Well…wouldn't want to keep them waiting," Mays took off across the island.

Brennan just stood out in the tropical breeze, wishing it could blow away all her problems.

"Dr. Brennan," Merrill began, "I might not have a doctorate, but I'm not stupid, and I know what I interrupted…want me to leave you alone or stay?"

"I'd like to be alone…"

He placed an amiable hand on her shoulder, "No worries Dr. B."

This dig was supposed to be about pure science. There wasn't supposed to be this…"drama," as Angela would call it. She wished that people could simply do their jobs without bringing all the extra baggage.

_Well then, considering the baggage that you've brought along, you wouldn't qualify as one of these "ideal" workers._

As much as worrying was waste of both time and energy, Brennan couldn't help but wonder if Booth had gotten that email. She hated wasting brainpower over pointless agonizing. He was undoubtedly busy, training soldiers to better fight and to apprehend terrorists.

She walked towards the beach, slipping off her rugged hiking boots and thick socks as she went. The sand, warmed by the sun, slipped through her toes as she sunk onto the untouched beach. The sun began to set in the west, turning the sky a moody red.

Her parents took her the beach in the summers…they took her and Russ to New Jersey.

_"Tempe, don't be such a baby!" he splashed around in the frigid Atlantic water. _

_"Russ, be nice to your sister!"_

_"But moooom!"_

_"No arguments. Tempe, come here, I'll braid your hair."_

It's simply amazing how sensory input can bring back vivid memories. Like how the smell of dry earth and still, musky air, transported her back to that underground SUV.

The sun was setting, the night gaining on the light of day.

"Brennan! We've got food!" the voice of Merrill bellowed.

_Just 352 more evenings of sunset's like this one…_

**B&B**

"Alright boys, you're done for the day. Go take a shower, you stink!" Sergeant Major Booth ordered to the group.

After six days of training, the squads were beginning to really shape up and get the hang of what he was teaching. Booth was confident that after another three weeks would turn these guys into terrorist catching machines. But for now, the boys got the evening and Sunday off.

"Hey boss, I gotta talk to ya!" Herring stepped over from the group as they dispersed to drink and relax. "It's real important."

"Sure man, hit me."

"I heard saw you ran into a few days ago, I jus' didn't have time to talk to you about it."

"And who would that be?" Booth walked off across the dusty base.

"Captain Ella Foley," Herring jogged to keep up with the Sergeant Major's brisk pace.

"What about her?"

"You gotta leave that chick alone kay brah?"

He stopped, "Why would you say that?"

"I saw how you looked at her. Look man, I know there ain't much girls on base, but the last thing you want to do is go droolin' after an officer."

"Yeah?" Booth tipped his chin up in defiance.

"You ain't stupid, you know the rules. The Army has a line that you don't cross."

A line…right.

_"Yeah, people who work in high risk situations, they can't be involved…romantically because it…leads to…things like what happened."_

_"High-risk situations…"_

_"Every single day, it's with us…and there's this line…we can't cross it. You know what I'm saying?"_

_"Yes. I understand." _

A line…just like the one between him and Bones before he boldly crossed that line to where no man had been before. And after fording that river, their partnership wasn't the same. Often it was, but it just felt wrong, like a puzzle with one piece shove in incorrectly but not knowing exactly which one.

"Okay fine, you win. And I did not have the hots for her."

"Sure you didn't, whatever you say boss…"

Booth wandered over towards the recreation building which housed the computer access center. He hadn't been there for six days; the work had really piled up with the boys. He wondered whether he should send an email to Catherine; with his quick departure, he didn't have time for more than a phone call to say goodbye and tell her to move on. Undeniably, she would move on in the next year. She didn't love him enough to stay around, and he didn't love her enough back to want her to stick her around.

"Can I help you?" the Army computer attendant asked with boredom.

"Sergeant Major Seeley Booth," he passed his military ID over the desk. "I want some computer time."

"How much? It's five bucks per hour."

"Start me off with one."

"Take computer number three."

Booth brushed by the desk with purpose.

"Oh, and one more thing," the attendant swiveled around, "viewing or downloading pornography is a no no. Got it?"

"Wasn't planning on it buddy," he clapped the kid on the shoulder.

He logged on to his government email.

_Two new messages_

One from Rebecca, and from…Bones!

With the excitement of a prepubescent boy on Christmas morning, Booth jabbed the "open" button to Rebecca's email. He just wanted to start with his boy.

_To: Seeley Booth_

_From: Rebecca Stinson_

_Daddy! I'm telling Mommy what to write. I miss you, but I know you are catching bad guys and helping people, so it's okay then. Look! Mommy took me down to the mall with Brent! She says I don't have much more time left, but I love you Daddy!_

_-Parker_

_Seeley, I just want to remind you to stay safe over there. Parker needs you._

_-Rebecca. _

Enclosed was a picture of an elated Parker, running about on the National Mall. The email brought a smile to his face.

Next up was the mail from Bones…he felt trepidation pool in his stomach. But he was eager to hear what she had to say.

_To: Seeley Booth_

_From: Temperance Brennan_

_Booth,_

_I apologize for the late reply, knowing how you are, you have been worried. The team got delayed in Timor-Leste for nearly a week. Obviously, I had no access to internet communications or I would have contacted you sooner. We made it up to the dig site safely, it is truly a marvel and the weather is excellent. _

_Even with the intellectual effort required to correctly analyze the bones, I can't help but think of you. I hope you remember what I said to you in the airport; don't try to be a hero. I just won't want to see you hurt, dead, or damaged in any way. Wow, now I'm just rambling and I don't want to take away your valuable time. _

_We've settled in at the site, I'm sharing a room with Daisy. I assure you, it isn't as bad as you might assume; she is proving to be quite the anthropologist and quite a companion. The rest of the team is excellent. They are working extremely well and have given me no problems._

_Stay Safe,_

_Bones_

_P.S. I we have a phone number at the site now. I don't know what kind of access you have, but be mindful of the time difference if choose to call. Don't forget, it's a shared line, so don't be surprised if I don't pick up. _

Booth had to read the email to himself over again to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.

She missed him? Of course she did! He had expected it (in a non-arrogant sort of way), but somehow, her confirmation made him feel that wonderful way that being wanted makes one feel.

"Hey buddy, you hour's up."

"Give me another one!" Booth said through gritted teeth.

"Hey, it's your money, not mine. Don't get all angry at me."

Crap; no he had to compose a fitting reply. What if he said something wrong? At least her jungle adventure was going well…the last thing he had to worry about was some creepy doctor feeling her up.

He wanted to smack his head on the keyboard, but the pesky attendant wouldn't like that at all. The guy would probably ban him from computer access. No computer means no internet, no internet means no Bones.

And now she had a phone number? This year wasn't going to be too bad. Well, he could tell himself that, but truth be told, the year separation would be difficult.

"Let's see…" Booth mumbled, looking at his watch.

9:10 PM

Bones was three and a half hours off…so it would have to be 12:40 AM. That was no time to call her. Maybe with his day off tomorrow he could call her.

Wait, the lines for the free 15 min phone calls were always ridiculously long. Not to mention that they only called back to the US.

"Damn," he swore under his breath. The attendant probably thought he was some crazy combat veteran with all his talking to himself.

He could use a pay phone, but a call to Indonesia…it couldn't be cheap.

Distraught and out of options, Booth typed up a reply and then printed Bones' reply.

"I'm done," he said to the young army attendant, private by the look of his chevron.

Okay, so the perk of this job was free internet. And young 19 or 20 year olds with free internet only turned to one thing.

"Hey buddy," he tapped the boys shoulder causing him to jump in surprise. "If you're going to break you own rules and watch that…stuff. You could at least be a bit more discrete," Booth winked.

"Uhhh, sure," the kid blushed. Who said the Army was immune to embarrassment?

Booth tucked the email into his breast pocket, keeping it close to his heart. Bones might have said that the heart was only full of blood, but the flush of warmth he felt by having a part of her real couldn't have been imagined.

**B&B**

_**Well, if you haven't figured it out, I'm putting the emails in when the other partner reads and replies. Next chapter we shall see a phone call! **_

_**By the way, seriously, thanks for all the support. Your reviews are really cheering me on to keep writing. If you are one of many people who have this on alert, thank you. I'd love for you to drop me a review so I can hear what you have to say.**_

_**Brownie points to whomever can correctly name the Shakespeare play in which the line I quoted was from. Bonus points if you can name the character!**_

_**Happy Memorial Day!**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Wow! You guys know your Shakespeare! I sit though high school English classes and when the teacher as much as says "Shakespeare," the class breaks out into moans and groans. My readers, you love of Shakespeare and your knowledge of it has restored some of my faith in humanity.**_

_**Oh, and I would like to apologize to Billy Mays (RIP). It took me five chapters to realize that him, and my antagonist share the same last name. Dr. Mays is not meant to be Billy Mays. Heck, I cried when Billy Mays died. Sorry Billy!**_

_**I'm a gamer and I planted a pretty blatant nugget for that. If you see it, let me know!**_

_**Enjoy this newest chapter!**_

**B&B**

_Day 22_

**B&B**

"We need those materials…I don't see how they could be in such demand…yes…this is the only major anthropological dig…this is much larger than the excavation in Honduras…practically micro…" Brennan drawled on, the phone clutched between her jaw and shoulder.

Keith Merrill stepped into the hut that functioned as the communications center, "Is this a bad time?" he mouthed.

"Hold on," she said into the receiver, muffling it into her chest. "What is it Keith?"

"A bunch of anthropological societies are here to visit the site."

"What constitutes a 'bunch' of them?"

"I'll warn you, it's a mouthful."

"Go on."

"American Anthropological Association, Anthropological Society of London, and Evolutionary Anthropology Society of the American Anthropological Association…can I just use the acronyms next time?

Brennan held the phone back up to her ear, "Just get me the equipment," she snapped into the receiver, hanging up. "Acronyms are acceptable next time. Weren't representatives from those societies supposed to visit one by one in the upcoming months?"

"I thought so too, but they're here and they want to see the remains."

"Brennan!" Dr. Ian Mikel ran (as well as he could for a physically-unwell, middle-aged man) over to the pair. "Dr. Mays is ready to leave when the societies leave later this evening. The AAA guy said that they didn't want to bother us more than necessary."

"What did you say about Mays?" Merrill asked in confusion.

"Dr. Curtis Mays is being removed from the team," Brennan responded.

"You're kidding."

"Nope," she smiled.

"Why? Not that I'm sad to see him go or anything…"

"Psychological instability."

"That's awesome!"

"But what do we do about the group of anthropologists waiting to knock down our doors?" Mikel cut in.

"How many people?"

"Six in all."

Brennan paused, turning over all the options in that large brain of hers.

"Keith, you and Daisy take them on a tour of our facilities." She turned to the older doctor, "Mikel, make sure that someone is keeping watch on Mays. "I don't want his anger of his removal to result in any…damages."

"What about you?" Merrill inquired.

"I will meet them in the examination room."

After nine days studying the inter-hominoid remains (or "Adi," as the team affectionately called her), Brennan had begun to draw conclusions from the remains. Although a skeleton had no vocal chords or means to move his or her mandible in order to talk, she had the unique skill of making them "speak." She was so giddy over the research opportunity before her; she knew that she might have a new species on her hands.

Perhaps the most interesting feature of Adi was her nearly-complete cranium. It was larger and more upright in shape than that of H. floresiensis showing more mental development. Adi could truly be a missing rung in the evolutionary ladder.

But the best part in the last nine days, was the email from Booth. Realizing that the site tour could take a while longer, (especially if Daisy talked as she usually did), she woke up her laptop, which was charging by solar panels, in the corner to read the email again. She read it often in the last few days; it helped her to remain composed, amicable, and gregarious.

Brennan clicked into her email client, opening Booth's email.

_Bones,_

_Okay, this is my third time trying to reply to you. Third time's the charm, right? So I'm in Afghanistan, but I can't tell you more than that. I'm in the middle of the desert, but the base is pretty high up; I hear it can get frigid here in the winter. Good thing I rough plenty of socks! _

_My second-in-command is Master Sergeant Edward Herring. He's a good guy and a good soldier. We are training a few squads of men; they are quick and catch on fast. I can't believe how young these guys are. Was I that young when I was out here? Zack may have not been a Ranger, but I could never imagine him running around in the uniform. _

_I really do miss you. I wrote some other stuff earlier, but it just sounded way too sappy. So I miss you…a lot. Oh, and Parker is doing well; you've always taken such a great interest in him. By the way, I will be calling you in the next week. You can email me back after we talk._

_Stay safe; don't even think about doing anything crazy, like…just crazy stuff. _

_Love,_

_Booth_

He hadn't called yet; it had been nine days, a week consisting of seven. He was bound to call sometime soon. He was probably just busy…lot's of work to do. The facility's phone didn't have an answering machine; but someone was almost always in earshot to write down a message if needed.

A few days before, when Brennan called off-island to make travel arrangements for Mays. After their earlier…confrontation, she decided that enough was enough and that keeping him around for a year would be dangerous. He didn't contribute to the dig anyway, so the team wouldn't even feel his loss. Except for Dr. Mikel, who would now be able to sleep with the source of snoring removed.

"Dr Brennan," Daisy smiled, waiting for permission to enter. She was wise to use her proper title when she had the six anthropologists in tow.

"Two at a time may come in Ms. Wick."

"You got it!"

The first two in were stiff men from the Anthropological Society of London. They shook hands with Brennan, avoiding trading pleasantries or small talk. It didn't bother her though; playing host was her least favorite duty as director. The men looked over the body, quietly whispering in one another's ears. After a brief five minutes of examination, the men thanked Brennan and left in tandem.

The second pair was Dr. Drome and Dr. Triss of the Evolutionary Anthropological Society.

"It's an honor to meet you Dr. Brennan," Dr. Drome shook her hand with great frequency and vigor. "You are truly one of the best in the field." He was a short man with weight collecting about his stomach.

"Pleasure is mine," Dr. Triss shook Brennan's hand firmly. Tress was an extremely tall woman; she had to bow her head to enter the hut. She was a woman of seemingly few works; she studied the remains in silence as Dr. Drome chattered on.

"Look at the structure of the metacarpals!" Drome exclaimed, reading out to presumably touch Adi's hand.

"Don't touch," Brennan said. She felt rather like a mother, slapping down the hand of a child reaching for the cookie jar. "The remains are extremely fragile."

"O-Of course," he folded his hands, his cheeks red with embarrassment.

She couldn't help but think the two were an odd traveling pair; Drove was short and Triss tall, Drome talkative and Triss quiet.

_Is this how people see Booth and me?_

"Ready for the last pair?" Daisy asked from outside.

"Yes."

"Go on in," the perky intern said.

"Bren?"

She saw a familiar face step into the hut.

"Justine?" Brennan said incredulously, pulling the other anthropologist into a hug.

"Do you two know each other?" a male voice said.

Brennan couldn't stop from smiling. Justine Cinch was a doctor of anthropology; they went to Northwestern together. She always enjoyed Justine's company; she wasn't just an anthropologist, but a skilled satirist also. The man behind her was Dr. Jake Ryan; her husband.

"I'm surprised you're here," Brennan stepped back from the hug. "You have never liked the American Anthropological Association."

"She said it was Alcoholics Anonymous with an extra A," Ryan laughed.

"Hey, if they would just call the organization something smart like 'A3,' we wouldn't have to worry about being mistaken for car mechanic," Justine chuckled. "I haven't seen you since I was in town for that Senate hearing two years ago. Oh and by the way, I swung by the Jeffersonian last week."

"Really? Are they still working cases without me?"

"Even though the Medico-Legal Lab employs over 100 employees, I've never felt the place so empty."

Brennan felt absolutely flattered.

"Look, I know you and your team have plenty of research to do, let Jake and I give this little inter-humanoid gem a look over."

"Certainly."

While the couple entertained with the remains, she poured herself a cup of coffee.

"By the way Bren, we're leaving the island before dinner. Apparently there is some storm brewing, but I never put much stake in meteorology."

The team gathered to walk to the dock; Mays was absent.

"Mikel, where is Dr. Mays?"

"I-I thought Keith was watching him," Mikel stuttered.

"I thought he was just around…" Keith looked down at the ground.

The trio took off across the camp in search of the missing anthropologist.

"Let's split up, Keith, head for the site. Mikel, check the dormitory area. Keep your portable radios on."

Both men nodded, heading off in opposite directions. She ran to the communications hut, peering through the open door.

"Mays is in here," she said into the walkie talkie.

Before doing anything, Brennan simply observed the man for a moment. He was talking on the phone, obviously an uninteresting conversation as she kept scratching his head.

"Mays, get off the phone, your boat is leaving."

He hung up, "Happy now?"

"Quite."

Surprisingly enough, Dr. Curtis Mays didn't protest as he walked to the boat.

"Too late for me to apologize isn't it?'

"Much too late."

"Figured."

"Come on Mays, get on the boat," Ryan called from the stern.

"I'm coming," he lugged all his gear back on.

"Dr. Mays," Brennan called him over.

"Do I get a goodbye kiss?" Mays flirted.

"No but," she dumped his coffee on his chest, "you have something on your shirt."

The biological anthropologist grumbled off, his white shirt stained by the coffee.

"Don't rattle the boat Dr. Mays!" she smiled. "I hope I said that right…or was it rock the boat or shake the boat?"

_343 more Mays free days…_

**B&B**

"Stop slopping through it!" Booth yelled. He only had thirteen days left with this lot and they would be ready to ship out and deal with real terrorists. "If you're going to do it, you're going to do it right. You hear me?"

"That's what she said…"

"Alright, who said that?" Herring called out, surveying the line of men. "Was it you?" he grabbed the collar of a private.

"Y-Yes sir," he said feebly.

"Start runnin', and don't stop until I tell ya to."

"Anyone else have any comments?" the Sergeant Major asked.

"No sir!"

"Go off and drop your gear and get some rest. Stay away from the mystery meat; don't forget what happened to Gordon last Thursday."

The unit laughed as they ran off the training ground as fast as possible. Like all young guys, all they could think of was the chow.

"Hey Herring," Booth turned.

"Yeah boss?"

"Don't make that kid run too long, I already let them off early this evening."

"Don't worry, I already know why you want to get off early," Herring winked.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, you know buddy." The Master Sergeant jogged off towards the where the Private was running for his life.

Okay, so he did have an ulterior motive for letting the boys off really early; heck, he practically gave they guys a day off. With the time change to the Maluku Islands, Booth needed about four and a half hours on Bones.

He ran over to the recreation building, heading straight for a pay phone. Luckily, a care package from Parker and Co. left him with a $100 prepaid phone card; more than enough dough to get him a phone call to Maluku and back.

He dialed the 800 number on the card, listening to the computerized female voice done on with instructions.

_"Please enter your four-digit pin number,"_ the robot asked.

"1337," he entered on the wall mounted phone.

_"Please dial the number you want to call with international dialing code."_

Booth scoured the scratched and damaged label on the pay phone with international dialing codes.

"Damn," he swore. The sticker on his phone was scratched off by some bored Ranger.

He peeked over at the phone booth next to him, struggling with the short cord length on the phone. After scanning through a list of countries that he never heard of, Booth found the code for Indonesia. At least, he thought the Maluku were in Indonesia.

Crossing his fingers for a bit of luck, Booth dialed the number that Bones had included in her last email.

The phone rang…

He felt like the chime was taunting him.

…And rang…

The jingle went on and on.

…And rang and rang…

Damn was anyone going to pick up?

_"Hello?"_

"Bones?" Booth smiled into the phone.

_"No? Who is this?"_

"You first."

_"You're the one who called me the rigid organs that form part of the endoskeleton of vertebrates."_

"Okay you made your point smarty pants. I'm Sergeant Major Seeley Booth, looking to talk to Dr. Temperance Brennan. So can you just go and get your boss. Now who are you?"

_"I'm Dr. Curtis Mays, biological anthropologist. Look, I don't have too long to talk, but I know who you are, but who are you?"_

"Look, Dr. Brennan and I worked together back in Washington D.C. now enough of these game and give her the damn phone!"

_"Now now Sergeant, no need to get angry."_

"Cut it out buddy, I'm getting pretty pissed off."

_"Mays, get off the phone, your boat is leaving." _

The voice on the phone sounded far off and muffled. Was that Bones' voice?

"Bones?" he yelled into the line.

Static. Only static replied.

"Damn it!" He kicked the wall, leaving a sizeable dent in the drywall.

_Must have been a bad time to call…_

Clearly this Mays guy wasn't on her good side. Didn't she say in her last email that the team was fine? Probably just busy…yeah…busy. But was she really too busy to talk to him? What if she just didn't want to talk to him? No way, it just had to be a bad time.

He checked the clock on the wall. It was way too late to even think about calling Parker. He hoped that email wasn't the only way he'd be able to contact the two people he loved most in his life. Email was just words on a digital page. A phone call on the other hand, was an actual interaction; it was as close as you could get to an actual conversation without a web cam or something technology like that.

"Dude, are you done with the phone?"

"Yeah, yeah sure," he walked off.

"Nice hole in the wall by the way! What? Did you wife leave you?"

Booth just ignored the guy; he was just another jarhead; what did he know anyway?

"Hey Sarge?" Private Bartlett asked from behind him. "Can I get a minute?"

"Sure," he pulled him aside to a quiet corner. "What's on your mind buddy?"

"Look, I'm a bit worried…"

"About what man?"

"My younger brother that I told you about. Remember him?"

"Yeah I remember you telling me about him."

"He's getting into big trouble back home, h-he's been drinking and getting in with a bad crowd."

"And?" Booth knew what this kid was going through. When he deployed, he had to stop bailing out Jared.

"How can I help him?"

"By not helping him."

"How does that make sense?"

"Look Bartlett, you brother needs to straighten himself out. You're a good kid, I'm sure that you did all you could to help him. I know it's hard, but you gotta let him go."

The young Private nodded, "Thanks Sarge."

"Anytime man, anytime. The Army is about brotherhood, I'm here for you, and someday, I'll need you to be there for me."

**B&B**

_**Enjoy it? Well, I'd love to hear what you think. **_

_**I will admit, this one was more plot pushing than B&B stuff. Don't worry, have planned quite a bit of it for next chapter. Sorry for tricking you by the way. Maybe they will get their phone call in the next chapter? You'll have to keep reading to find out!**_

_**Your reviews really keep me going, so keep sending them my way!**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Sorry it took so long for me to get this up. I have finals in less than a week. But, my muse has ADHD and this chapter spawned from "studying."**_

_**Okay, I'm switching up the format for this chapter. But you guys are smart; you'll figure it out. I don't think it's confusing, but I didn't think that identifying pitches out of thin air was difficult either. **_

_**Enjoy!**_

**B&B**

_Day 35_

**B&B**

"Daisy, measure the volume of Adi's cranium and approximate brain size. We will need to compare this to the cranium size of H. sapiens and H. floresiensis."

"Of course Dr. B," the young anthropologist lifted the skull to a separate examination table.

Brennan was immensely pleased with the progress of the dig team. Aside from herself and Daisy dedicated to examining the remains, the rest of the team coordinated press efforts, and continued to turn the soil of the excavation site for bone fragments or other artifacts preserved alongside the body.

As her time at the site grew, Brennan could feel the stress of FBI work waning. It was like the promise of new discovery and the power of tropical air, had begun to cleanse her soul; if she had one (which was improbable). In just 330 days, she knew she should be ready to deal with murderers once again.

But a year was a long time. What if Booth didn't want to do their "thing" anymore? He loved to be a soldier, and he was excellent at it too. What if he wanted to enlist again?

_He might, you know…_

"Dr. B? Are you okay?" Daisy waved a hand in front of her face. "You've been staring at that microscope for an awfully long time."

"I'm studying the bone!" she snapped.

"But there's nothing under the scope…"

Perhaps she had "zoned out." She stood up, slightly dazed and dizzy. "I'm taking a break finish; finish the cranium measurements, then move on to precise measurements of the tibias, fibulas, and femurs."

"I will," Daisy called as Brennan left the hut.

The hot Maluku sun pounded upon her as she searched for suitable shelter. Heat rash, or miliaria, from seat formed bumpy ridges on her shoulders. The heat was beginning to take its toll; she was already noticeably tanner due to the creation of melanin.

"Dr. B!" Keith Merrill called from under a tree, hiding from the mid-day heat. "Come take a load off."

"Even super heroes have to rest!" Dr. Debra Gresh, another anthropologist on the team laughed. "Look at Mikel," she pointed to the slumbering man.

Brennan half-smiled, "I'm heading to the communications building."

"Chill inside? Not a bad idea at all," Merrill said.

"You need to keep searching for bone fragments," she chided lightly, walking across open land towards her destination.

It was wonderful to be back in nature. Merrill said that she was a "regular boy scout"; she wasn't sure exactly what that meant, but she assumed that it was a compliment due to the context of their conversation.

While the communications hut, like all the others, was void of climate control, it had an ice box. In this head, there was nothing Brennan wanted to do more than to scoop a bag of ice up, and place it on the back of her neck to aid lowering of her core body temperature.

She collapsed to the couch, sighing heavily. She would admit, this dig was very physically demanding; more so than being neck deep in a mass grave. Had she known earlier that she would direct the expedition, she would have planned some sort of conditioning.

The team's lone phone rang.

_Oh great…_

The last thing Brennan wanted to deal with was some crazy religious fanatic, threatening some sort of terrible hellfire on the team for evolutionary research. Or a raving reporter, looking for a few quick sound bites to get viewers and thus money. National Geographic was already planning a feature on their dig and she was set to appear on National Public Radio's "Science Friday" in the coming weeks.

The thought of letting the photo go to answering machine crossed her mind; but of course, they had no such machine.

Brennan pulled herself from the couch with a grunt, grabbing the phone out of its wall-mounted cradle.

"Banda Islands of the Maluku, director Dr. Temperance Brennan speaking."

Her eyes widened when she heard the voice on the other end of the line.

**B&B**

"Damn it! What do you think this is? An NPR program?" Booth fumed at his new batch of soldiers.

After the Army deemed his training "a great triumph," command decided to mix some regular Army infantry in with the Rangers. Being around Rangers for so long made him forget how different they were from the minimally trained infantry. They were more disciplined, better trained, and a whole lot less aggravating.

One infantry man was particularly trying on Booth's patience. He was Corporal Richard "Dick" Patterson. Herring had taken to calling him "Peppermint Patty" due to his "freshness," and not by smell.

"Hey Peppermint Patty," Herring screamed in the Corporal's face. "Quit your frakin' snickering and give me 100!"

"I don't have any cash on me," he muttered while dropping into a push-up position.

"Alright then, 200 push-ups then," the Master Sergeant eyed Patty with eyes of flame.

Sergeant Major Booth leered at the group before him. "This isn't hard stuff," he smacked the tactical board behind him. "If you can't pick this up, maybe a run will jog your brains." He nodded to Herring. "Run 'em until you feel like making them stop."

"You got it boss."

Like an expert shepherd, Herring rounded up the soldiers, pointing them on a running route.

Booth missed his last bunch of trainees. They were Rangers; they had character, they were strong and respectful. He really missed having Private Bartlett on base; the kid was easy to talk to. Now, as of yesterday, he was deployed to some unstable region of the Afghani desert.

This training class was the easiest month these soldiers would have out here. Terrorists wouldn't give them meal breaks. Al' Queda wouldn't give them time to sleep. The Taliban wouldn't give do-overs.

The last think he wanted was to see any of these guys, coming back to base in a body bag being loaded into a refrigerated compartment for transport back to the states.

He checked his watch; plenty of time to make a call to the Maluku. Booth dashed to the recreation building, whipping out his calling card at light speed.

Frantically, he dialed the number off the crumpled, printed email in his pocket. He kept the email close to his heart; reading it helped to ward off homesickness. Booth pulled out the picture he had of her; he wanted to see her as he talked to her.

"Pick up pick up pick up," he grumbled, playing with the pay phone's cord.

The phone rang…

He crossed his fingers and prayed to God that someone would pick up.

And rang…

As long as that jerk he talked to last time didn't answer, he would be enthralled to hear even Daisy Wick's voice.

And ran some more…

"Seriously?" he said to no one in particular.

Finally, the sound of someone picking up flooded the line.

The voice he heard made his heart skip a beat.

**B&B**

_"Banda Islands of the Maluku, director Dr. Temperance Brennan speaking."_

_"Bones?"_

_"Booth?"_

_"That's Sergeant Major Booth," his chest puffed with pride._

_"Does that make me Dr. Brennan?"_

_"I don't think so…" he laughed._

_"A-Are you okay? I-I told you not to be a hero, not to be yourself…it took so long for you to call…"_

_"I called like two weeks ago and some jerk picked up."_

_"Ugghh, Mays. I don't even want to talk about him."_

_"Is this Mays guy dangerous? Is he buggin' you?" concern leaked from his voice._

_"Don't digress, I asked you how you were."_

_"I'm fine, really. I've been on base the entire time."_

_"Keep it that way…it's only logical," emotion seeped into her voice. "How are you doing?"_

_"I'm in awesome shape, my hair is starting to grow back-"_

_"Your hair? Did you sustain a head injury?"_

_"Nah, the Army shaved my head once I got over here."_

_"You must look weird," Brennan smiled._

_"Thanks Bones, I really appreciate that!" he chuckled. _

_"What about you? How are the Maluku-poo-poo?"_

_"I don't know what that means…"_

_"No worries Bones! I was just riffing on your island."_

_"Well, research is progressing well."_

_"That's all you have to say?"_

"Well the weather is rather nice."  


_"Right, rub it my face!" they shared a laugh. "I hate to cut this short, but I'm gonna have to step out in a moment."_

_"Oh…okay," she sounded hurt, weak even. "I really miss you."_

_"I miss you too Bones, but hey, only 330 days to go."_

_"But these last 35 have gone by so slowly…"_

_"Chin up. You're the one who said that time was relative, or something like that."_

_"So I did."_

_"I'll call when I can."_

_"Promise?"_

_"It's a promise."_

_"Bye Booth…"_

_"Bye Bones…"_

**B&B**

Brennan regretfully placed the phone back in its cradle, her heart still fluttering from her contact with Booth. Their conversation had more or less been small talk; she was not yet ready to let loose her emotional turmoil that she kept bottled within. For an outsider looking in, one could easily say that she handled emotions poorly; instead of letting them fly free, she preferred to bottle them. But eventually, the cap on the container would become too difficult to twist and turn to seal it, and the emotions would flow out in a torrent.

Just hearing his voice again had reenergized her, but she had no idea as to why. Booth was just a person, one that played a large role in her life, but just a person. Having that sort of effect, well…was odd, but yet exciting all at the same time.

She couldn't help but wish no one present or absent could affect her in such a way. It made her dependant and in part, weak.

_Booth has made you stronger…_

Well…Booth did compensate well in areas that she lacked. He corrected her phrases and was able to interact more easily with others. But why?

As an anthropologist, Brennan dedicated her life to the study of humans. If H. neanderthalensis had an estimated 99.9% similarity to H. sapiens; she could barely imaging the potential for genetic diversity.

Booth though was not something to be empirically tested. No, he had to be observed in a completely new way; from very close.

"Hey Dr. B?" Daisy peered cautiously into the room. As an intern to the famous Temperance Brennan, one learns to tread lightly. "We would like you to be there when we try to extract any preserved mitochondrial DNA."

"Of course," Brennan stood, still feeling revitalized from her call with Booth.

"What were you doing here?" the young anthropologist asked as they walked side by side to the excavation hut.

"I spoke with Booth," she tried to downplay the significance of their conversation by mentioning it casually. Her relationship with Booth was her business (and most likely Angela's) alone.

Daisy squealed, "It must have been great right? Wait, don't answer that. I know it was. Your eyes are all twinkly and you have that look on your face."

"What look?"

"_That_ look. The one for after you talk with Booth."

"I do not have designated facial expressions for that situation!"

"My eyes don't lie," Daisy smiled broadly.

Desperate to pull the discussion off herself, Brennan focused in on Adi. "Remember, any DNA we pull will be incomplete. Once collected, we will need specialized biologists to complete the genome."

Daisy nodded enthusiastically.

"And keep in mind that only 100 genes have been identified in the split between Homo neanderthalensis and Homo sapiens; don't be disappointed if we come up perceivably short."

"There's no way I could possibly be disappointed! I'm here, making anthropological history and having the time of my life!"

The young woman's response surprised Brennan; with her recent breakup with Sweets, she assumed that her rationality would be affected. Maybe Daisy was a bit like her in that science and study could easily fill the void of relationship failure.

_It can never fill it completely…_

If it did completely fill that void, she wouldn't be feeling unbelievably homesick and Booth-sick.

"Just take your time and _be careful_," she stressed. Daisy could become overexcited very easily.

Now all Brennan had to do was wait for another call from Booth. She hated being at his mercy like this. If only he had a phone number, she could initiate conversation also. But no, she had to wait until he came to her.

But there was always email.

Deciding to supervise Daisy, she pulled her laptop over and began to compose another email.

It was her only way of gaining some sort of control.

_Just 330 more days of Booth-sickness…_

**B&B**

Booth hung up the phone, a goofy grin spreading across his face. He couldn't help but feel incredibly awesome.

She was concerned about him. _Really _concerned. Enough so to ask him to stay on base.

This year was going to be much more difficult than he ever intended it to be. Yeah, Booth always missed her when she would go to book signings or hide in limbo for days at a time, but a year was a whole different scale. Comparing the two separations was like comparing the distance from where he was, around the world and back, to the distance from the earth to the sun. While both had a definitive distance, one was so incomprehensibly larger than the other that shey became impossible to compare.

He walked down the hall, heading for the lounge to take a load off.

"Sergeant Major Booth," General Bradley Nelson called.

"General Sir," Booth saluted.

"At ease man."

"What are you doing down in this dump sir?"

"I like to hang around with you and your men; it reminds me of my days of combat deployment in the Rangers."

"That's great Sir," he smiled. Somehow, Booth always ended up with decent superiors.

"What do you boys do for fun down here?"

"Most men will relax at the beer garden."

"That was my favorite thing too," the General slapped Booth on the back. "Now, I am glad I ran into you. How are those regular Army grunts doing with your Rangers?"

"Permission to speak freely sir?"

"Certainly Sergeant Major."

"They are nowhere close in quality to the Rangers."

"If it were up to you, would you continue to allow them to get in to your class?"

"Well…" Booth paused for a moment. He didn't want to insult the General; it had been his idea to get soldiers other than Rangers involved. "I think it is a good training for any man being deployed out here, but we might want to consider running a non-Ranger specific course."

"I heard you are always chalk full of good ideas."

"From who Sir?"

"Master Sergeant Herring; your second in command."

"You flatter me Sir."

"I don't mean to hold ya here, I know you probably got more important things to do than talk to an old Army guy like me."

Booth saluted again.

"Carry on."

Truth be told, Booth didn't have anything better to do. Yeah, he sat in the lounge, chatting with the other guys. But he planned on spending another evening looking at pictures of his son and Bones.

He really missed Parker. While it made him feel better that Parker wanted him to go forth and help others, he knew that leaving him forever was not an option.

_If anything, Parker will know his dad died a hero…but what does that matter when he won't have a father at all?_

He shook the morbid thought from his head immediately. While Bones didn't believe in the power of positive thoughts, he did. If he didn't think he would get out of here alive, he wouldn't. Bones would say that that was illogical; that mindset didn't change an outcome based on random chance.

Even if it didn't matter, it made him feel a heck of a lot better.

Booth moseyed to the barracks, deciding to catch a quick cat nap so that he could get his men up nice and early. Like when one first joined the Army, these guys had to be broken down before he could build them up as anti-terrorism experts. For him, an expert Ranger, this would be an easy task.

Work tomorrow or not, Booth couldn't wait for his next call or email with Bones. Solider or not, she was the one who had always, and would always, keep him going.

_330 more days of Bones-sickness…_

**B&B**

_**Well, I hope no one got lost in there! I tried to keep everything as clear as possible, but I didn't think it would have been fair just to give one of our favorite two characters a crack at the phone call. **_

_**In the last week or two, I've been trying to go green. Instead of running off Arizona Iced Teas, I'm running of the renewable resource of reviews. I love them so please review. Even if you are a lurker who just wants to say one or two words, anything you take the time to send me is awesome. **_

_**Keep in mind; I have finals next week, so it might be a week or two until the next chapter. But, once finals are done I'm on break! **_


	7. Chapter 7

_**Okay, so I was studying for my Honors PreCalc final, when I got distracted. As jayne-190 said, "studying also seems to prompt stories/chapters; stress is funny at times." Tell me about it. **_

_**Shout out to Ira Flatow on Science Friday! Not like he'd ever read this…**_

_**So anyway, jumping about a month ahead; no reason to bore you. And I'll admit, I'm already getting eager to get them back together. I'll see what I can do…**_

_**Thanks for the support everyone!**_

_**Oh and I, Objective Mistress, now has a twitter account. Send me something objectivemiss. **_

**B&B**

_Day 66_

**B&B**

Temperance Brennan took a day off. Yes, this day of was completely voluntary. No, the world is not coming to a cataclysmic end.

After two months of studying Adi, the inter-hominoid remains, she needed a day or two of rest and relaxation. Luckily, Maluku Islands offered pristine beaches, and wonderful scuba diving. But for today, she settled to walking the shoreline.

Brennan wished Angela was here. She could really use some "girl talk" about now. Brennan always was an independent person, but lately, she felt lost. Like a sailor, hopelessly adrift at sea, she searched for any sign of distant shorelines or passing ships. She had no idea where she stood with Booth; much like the sailor, she felt like she was standing on a dingy being violently buffeted by wind and sea.

Were they just friends, or were they more? Did she want their relationship to be more?

She kicked the water with a frustrated grunt, sending beads of salt water into the air.

Running away to this dig hadn't allowed her to gain perspective; it had only made everything more complicated. Suddenly, an epiphany hit her like a piece of space debris falling from low earth orbit. Brennan didn't have to wait an entire year to talk to Angela; she possessed a working phone. Well not possessed, rather, had access to a working phone. Resisting the urge to call herself an idiot, she rushed back to the compound, pulling her hiking boots on as she went.

"Dr. B!" Keith Merrill walked alongside the more senior anthropologist, matching her brisk pace step for step. "I have orders from Dr. Mikel to keep you from working."

"Dr. B?" Daisy Wick pulled up to her other side. "Aren't you taking the day off?"

"I need to make a phone call," Brennan tried to wave the two off.

"Are you calling Booth?" Daisy's eyes seemed to light with anticipation.

"Who's this Booth guy?" he cut in.

"Dr. B's one and only partner."

"Wow; Dr. Mays told me you weren't in a relationship."

"I'm not," Brennan snapped, still trying to remove the interns as one would untangle a jellyfish from a limb.

"Then who are you calling?" the perky anthropologist bugged.

"Don't you two have work to do?" she asked, stopping at the communication hut door.

"Yes Dr. B…" the young anthropologists sulked off.

Finally alone, Brennan entered the darkened hut, dialing Angela's cell phone number that she knew by heart. She drummed her fingers on the cradle impatiently, mentally calculating the time difference. It was 4:13 PM local, so it must be 10:13 AM in Paris; there was an extremely good chance that Angela would be awake.

_"Hello?"_ the artist answered with confusion evident in her voice. She most likely didn't recognize the phone number.

"Is this Angela?"

_"Sweetie?"_

The next thing she heard was an earsplitting squeal; any higher in pitch, and it would have been out of the human hearing range.

"I'd like to talk to you."

_"Well, you already have me on the line. How is Maluku? Is it terrible? Is it horribly backwards?"_

"It's quite nice actually, but I need some advice."

_"On what? I've got time; Jack is out picking up breakfast."_

"It's about…Booth…"

_"What about him?"_

"Well…" Brennan struggled for the right words. "There's something I never told you about…"

_"Oh my gosh! Did you have sex? Are you pregnant with a little Booth?"_

"Why would you think that? It's nothing of that sort."

_"Then what? I can already tell this is going to be juicy."_

"I assure you, there is no juice involved. I'll tell, but you cannot interrupt me as it can be a rather long tale."

_"Does it have to do with sex?"_

"We got close to coitus at one point."

_"Spill sweetie. Now."_

"The first case that Booth and I worked-"

_"The one where he fired you?"_

"Yes, but just after that, we were going to engage in tequila-driven sexual intercourse."

_"Oooo, that's the best kind. Why didn't' you?"_

"At the last moment, I decided to go home; I'm still unsure of what my justification for that action was…but I digress. That isn't the conflict I wish to discuss."

_"What would be more conflicting than leaving Booth literally high and dry?"_

"A few months ago, Booth told me that he loves me…and," Brennan couldn't help but tear up a bit as she relieved the emotional turmoil. "…That he wanted to give 'us' a try…"

_"Oh my God…"_

"I said no."

_"So this dig…you ran away from him like you did when you broke up with Pete."_

"Yes."

_"So what now?"_

"I-" she squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to will her thoughts out. "I-I think I l-love him."

"_I knew it! But this is big; are you going to tell him?"_

"I was thinking about emailing him-"

_"No!" _the artist yelled into the phone. _"You can't tell someone that you love them through an email!"_

"Why not? Email is an effective means of communication."

_"No Bren, it just isn't right."_

"Why?"

_"Because it just isn't."_

"Using a tautology in a rational argument won't get you anywhere."

_"Okay, not it's my turn to say 'I don't know what that means.' It's just rude to tell someone something that…intimate"_

"So then what do I do?" Brennan screamed in frustration. "What if I'm unable to tell him in ten months when I return home?"

_"Look, the first step is to admit that you have a problem."_

"I don't have a problem!"

_"Problem meaning that you admit to yourself that you love Booth. It can only get easier from here."_

Typically, when something upset Brennan, she would simply compartmentalize and attempt to forget about it. As one would treat the bunny suit that one's aunt handmade for Christmas, she would shove the thoughts to the back of her metaphorical mental closet. Eventually, she would dig it out, but by that time, the suit's fur would be matted with dust, and forgotten long enough that no more emotional triggers lingered.

With Booth though, she had tried to shove her feelings for him to the absolute back. But after five years of partnership, her closet didn't have any more room. She would have to let her feelings go, and like any spring cleaning routine.; decide what to keep, and what to dispose of.

"I trust you."

_"This is awesome! Now, would you mind if Jack and I come down and visit you in a month or two?"_

"How would you get here?"

_"Jack has a yacht docked in Macau, ready to roll when we want."_

Brennan smiled, "It would be quite enjoyable to see you."

_"Oh, Jack is back with food. Call me, or I'll call you!"_

She hung up feeling proud of herself. She had said to a _live_ human being that she might love Seeley Booth. Emphasis on "live," as sometimes, down in the darkness and privacy of limbo, she had tried to practice professing her love (if love existed at all). Corpses, even with no means to hear, are figuratively good listeners.

Even if she didn't feel love, it was some sort of very strong attachment.

With a few more hours of daylight and nothing to do, Brennan walked outside to the excavation site. The team was busy mapping the site by transferring physical markers to create a computer model of the dig.

"I thought I told our interns to keep you away," Mikel stepped over a line of marking wire.

"I'm not working; I'm merely observing."

"By the way, your Science Friday interview was amazing. Sorry that…that incompetent called in."

"My partner says that I do badly in interviews because I don't connect enough."

"Don't fret Temperance," Mikel said in a fatherly tone, "I may not know the quality of your past interview, but I do know that this particular one was excellent."

"You blew their socks off!" someone called from the excavation trench.

"I'm not sure if that's possible…"

"How about this," Merrill dragged himself from the pit. "Why don't we pull out some of that alcohol that the locals gave to us and we celebrate our director's sweet interview?"

Sounds of approval came from the gaping hole in the ground.

"It's settled," Mikel said. "We're going to celebrate, and you," he pointed at Brennan, "_will _like it."

Just like when dealing with a determined Booth, resistance was futile.

_Only 299 more days of the Maluku sun…_

**B&B**

"You're mighty lucky Sergeant Major," Major Marcus Moore said as he stitched up his leg. "See, I'm a trauma surgeon, and it's nice to have so little to do that I can fix something as minor as this."

"Thanks doc," Booth winced.

During a live fire exercise, a blockheaded Private didn't follow proper live ammunition protocols, resulting in a very preventable friendly fire incident and ballistic trauma to the lower right leg.

"Did I say how nice it is to see a solider without hemorrhaging, compound fractures, shrapnel, and concussions?"

"You've got a sense of humor on you," Booth raised his eyebrows.

"Hey," the surgeon finished up the stitches, "in a line of work like mine, you have to keep a positive outlook somehow."

"I know what that's like…"

"Combat can be like that."

"Well, I was an FBI Agent; I saw corpses just about every day."

"Ah," the doctor remarked. "To deal in death daily…quite difficult."

_"This is Science Friday, I'm Ira Flatow. This hour we are talking with Dr. Temperance Brennan, a forensic anthropologist-"_

"W-What are you listening to?" Booth looked around for the source of the broadcast. He knew that he had just heard Bones' name.

"Oh, that's Science Friday, I hope you don't mind. I pick it up as a podcast and listen. I love to pick up something new."

"T-Turn it up," Booth ordered, sliding from the examination table.

"I don't see why not, I'm done with your leg by the way," Major Moore turned up the speaker.

_"Welcome to Science Friday Dr. Brennan."_

_"Thank you Ira, it is great to be here."_

"Most of my Army patients hate the NPR crap I play," the doctor chuckled. "You like this stuff?'' 

"No," Booth shook his head. "That woman, Dr. Brennan, is my partner."

"Not a bad girlfriend to have eh?"

"No no; work partners."

_"So tell me Dr. Brennan, what have you found on this Maluku expedition?"_

_"Well, a nearly-complete set of inter-hominoid remains were discovered in Maluku. My team and I finished the excavation of the remains and are studying them as we speak."_

_"Wow, is this as big as I think it could be. In respect to the chain of human evolution, I mean."_

_"If you think that this could be a fairly large discovery, then you are right. It is entirely possible that the remains represent a new human ancestor. But we don't have evidence to prove this yet and I am not sure of it myself."_

"Smart lady Dr. Brennan is," Moore nudged Booth. "I love all her books."

_"So then Dr. Brennan, what makes these remains so remarkable?"_

_"Well Ira, the remains have evidence of cross-mating between Homo sapiens and Homo floresiensis."_

_"So mating, between humans, and another member of the homo genus?" _

_"That is correct."_

_"Now, I hate to get off topic, but it is no secret that you are a New York Times bestselling author. Do you think that your current expedition could have future inspiration on your work?"_

_"All of my work is complete fiction; while I don't deny that elements of reality can come into my books, but imagination and facts play the largest role?"_

_"You don't even gain inspiration from those that work with you?"_

Booth imagined her smiling, _"I admit that some more…vivid friends have inspired characters."_

"Hey," the doctor tossed a bottled water to Booth. "I figured that this is practically a party, so why not have refreshments?"

"If going to the doctor was always this fun, I would have had no problem getting a bit hurt."

"So Sergeant Major, if you are so close to Dr. Brennan, do you have a character counterpart?"

Booth cracked a wide grin. "I'm Agent Andy."

"Get out."

"Why?" The one and only Captain Ella Foley stepped into the examination room.

After Herrings warning, Booth had put Foley far from his mind. She was just a pretty face and a piece of paper that said "doctor." She wasn't anything special.

"Nothing concerning you Captain," Major shrugged.

_"So let's get another caller on the line. Curtis Mays from Dallas, Texas, you're on the air."_

_"Thank you Ira. Dr. Brennan here has no evidence whatsoever to backup anything she is saying."_

_"Big thing to say Mr. Mays-"_

_"It's Dr. Mays."_

_"Sorry Dr. Mays. So Dr. Brennan, anything to say?"_

_"Dr. Mays here is simply upset that he was removed from our dig from inappropriate conduct. We didn't publicize it against my own opinion, but we decided to spare him some professional fallout. But since he brought it up, I suppose that knowledge is now public."_

"So your girlfriend here can kick guys off her island," Moore laughed.

"Not my girlfriend Major."

"I've heard that one before."

"Excuse me," Captain Foley butted in. "Sorry to stop your conversation, but we just got word that some wounded are being airlifted back to base and we will probably need you prepped for surgery."

"Alright Captain, you can leave. I'll see you in a moment or two."

The Captain hastily left.

"Look Sergeant Major Booth, I know it isn't exactly good officer-enlisted relations for you and me to pal around like this. But I'm an enlisted guy at heart."

"Oh really?"

"Combat medic first, I saw a lot of action, a purple heart too."

"Impressive doc."

"They just have me here because the most wounded come through here, and I'm the best scalpel-jockey the Army has. Not that I like to toot my own horn. Come chat sometime," Major Moore stepped out of examination room, heading down the hall to some other corner of the medical complex.

Booth's two months on base had been kind, with the exception of the friendly fire incident. He was done with his second batch of trainees, and was currently idle while waiting for a new group. The Ranger and Army Infantry mix group had been less than ideal, and his next group was all Rangers. But, he had at least a week before they arrived and were ready to go.

He limped out of the room, his leg still hurt.

"Sergeant Major Booth," a nurse in full scrubs approached him. "We have crutches for you." She pointed to a pair leaned against a desk. "I'd love to chat more, but I'm needed down in trauma shortly," she dashed off down the hall.

Stubborn as always, Booth grabbed one crutch with his right arm. He knew that he would be fine in a day or two.

He gimped across the dusty base, heading towards the recreation building.

"Hey boss!" Herring yelled as he caught up.

"Hey, don't be taunting me about running."

"No worries man. That damn Private got a big ribbing."

"Don't come down too hard on the guy."

"Boss; you're a Ranger. You know how deadly friendly fire can be. I know as well as you do that accidents happen, but this is serious business. But hey, no worries! Let's go and get you fixed up with somethin' good eh?"

Booth laughed along, "I don't feel like getting drunk."

"Well I hate to leave ya boss, but I'm headin' in that direction," the Master Sergeant walked off.

Still heading to the recreation building, Booth couldn't help but feel a bit on edge. Without a group of Rangers to train with his physical mobility impaired, he couldn't do much of anything but sit around. Usually, he would use his extra time at the shooting range, in the weight room or running. The time change wasn't right to call Parker, but they had talked just yesterday.

Although completely untrue, Booth couldn't help but feel like Parker was growing up faster with him gone. Rebecca was being great with his deployment; she took videos to share, pictures to send, and helped to schedule calls with him.

He talked with Bones around a week ago; they exchanged emails one or two times a week.

Booth settled down in a recliner in the room where some guys were watching the news, satisfied with the idea of resting and healing.

_Only 299 more days of crappy Army TV channels…_

**B&B**

_**Tada! I took half my Spanish 4 final today. Second half is tomorrow, then two finals on both Thursday and Friday and I'm done for the year! Yay!**_

_**Reviews increase my odds of doing well…I hope. **_


	8. Chapter 8

_**Thanks to whomever (I didn't feel like counting…) submitted the 100th review! It's like the 100th episode, but you don't have to throw a pillow at your TV in anger and storm out, and then later realize that it was actually an awesome episode!**_

_**Anyways, this one is a little bit of just pushing the plot so we can get to the visit by Angela and Hodgins, and eventually get our crime-fighting duo back to American soil. Hope it is still an enjoyable read.**_

_**I do not know how National Geographic people act, but I love their magazine. Their TV channel, on the other hand, has some crazy crap.**_

_**This one is dedicated to the anonymous readers. I know you are out there!**_

_**Follow me on Twitter - objectivemiss**_

**B&B**

_Day 98_

**B&B**

"Dr. Brennan," the National Geographic photographer looked through his camera, "if you could squat down and look at the skull that would be totally rad."

Brennan nodded, assuming the position that the man wanted. National Geographic's crew had arrived two days before; with them pounds and pounds of video equipment. According to their director, Nat Geo planned a two hour cable television special (which without a TV, she would be unable to watch), and a five-page feature in next month's magazine.

If anything, the crew's presence was disruptive. While she enjoyed the publicity for the discovery, her team acted very differently under the lens. Daisy became even more chatty than usual and was a fixture wherever the cameras set up. Merrill became extremely shy, acting like a crustacean diving beneath a rock. Mikel, while very experienced, began to stumble over everyday anthropological terms.

"Perfect shot!" the photographer proclaimed, receding back to his crew.

For some odd reason the crew wanted pictures of her. Brennan had great difficulty fathoming why their interest would not be solely focused on Adi and the excavation site. But on this matter, she recalled the telephone conversation she had the day before with Booth.

_"Bones, they want to see the people behind the discovery."_

_"Why? The discovery is of much more importance than me and my team."_

_"People that like that sort of thing. They like knowing who discovered it and what they are like. You know, see the whole picture."_

_"That whole picture cannot encompass how I feel about the dig…that is just humorous."_

_"All Bones. Not just some. All."_

Their conversations, whether by phone or email, were decently frequent. Brennan was just glad he wasn't in combat.

"So Dr. Brennan, tell us about yourself," the reporter shoved a microphone into her face.

"I don't see how this is relevant."

"If you would please, just answer the question."

Brennan just shook her head. The only good reporting she had seen on the dig was the NPR coverage and articles in many of the world's anthropology journals.

The reporter frowned, turning to Daisy instead. "Tell me…"

"Daisy Wick," the peppy anthropologist filled in the reporter's blank.

"What got you into anthropology?"

"Well, Dr. Brennan has always been my hero and I want to be just like here. So I studied extremely hard and read everything she wrote…"

Brennan walked away in disgust; could her team really degrade so quickly? Productivity dropped to an all time low while the National Geographic crew lingered.

She headed back to the hut she shared with Daisy. She turned her gaze to the sky; it was beginning to gray and darken with the usual signs of impending precipitation. The tropical nature of the island made rain a regular occurrence. In their first weeks on island, the builders turned their attention to waterproofing the communications hut and the examination hut; leaving the dormitories to temporarily fend the rain off without aid. In short, the roofs leaked terribly. Anything important had to be sealed away or else the rain would ruin it. Although Brennan had a waterproof sleeping bag, moisture would creep through the bug net; she hated waking up damp.

Entering the hut, Brennan booted up her laptop, hoping that the internet uplink was functioning.

"4 New Messages"

The first one was from Cam; Brennan hadn't heard from her since the day of her departure.

_"Dr. Brennan,_

_Angela mentioned that you had email access. I hope the dig is going well and that you and Daisy are healthy and happy. The Jeffersonian is fine, but feels empty. A friend of yours, Justine, dropped by with her husband to say hello. She had no idea you were on a dig. What she did tell me was the story of your first (and last) frat party. Sorry Dr. Brennan, but I don't think I can every look at you in the same way ever again. EVER." _

Brennan's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. That frat party story was one thing she intended to be kept from her co-workers (and friends) at the Jeffersonian. But now that Cam knew, the story would spread like a wildfire across the institute. She would never hear the end of it…ever. She read on, pushing her college days from the forefront of her thoughts.

_"We have taken on a case or two. Luckily, bones can wait, so we'll have a nice stack of cases for you when you get home. Wendell and Clark have really stepped up to the plate with you gone; not that we don't miss you and need you. The Jeffersonian is thinking of you!_

_- Cam"_

She couldn't help but feel proud of the two interns back in D.C. Both would make excellent doctorial candidates.

Brennan opened the next email. It was from Russ.

_"Tempe,_

_I wish you told dad and me that you were leaving sooner. We didn't even get to say goodbye. I hope you're okay out there wherever you are. I know you're in Maluku, but I don't even know where that is. Just stay in contact, we want to know that you are okay._

_Your Brother,_

_Russ"_

Even after coming to terms with her childhood abandonment, Brennan still resented Russ a bit. Yes, it was highly irrational, but resent is a sticky emotion. Like gum on the role of a rubber shoe, even after prying the hardened bits off, the pigment and small morsels remain.

The third email was from Angela and Hodgins.

_"Bren,_

_Jack and I just landed in Hong Kong, the weather here is awesome. We're going to spend a week in the city before going to Macau via hydrofoil to get on Jack's yacht so we can come see you! I'm so excited! Look, from the last time we talked, I know you are clamming up. You are. Don't deny it. Our phone call a month ago (about Booth and love) was a slip up for you; next time, I know you will try to be more careful with those messy emotions. I know you sweetie. _

_You really need to let it out. Anyways, Jack and I will be there in like three weeks, so I'll be able to force some girl talk upon you then. Jack's mumbling about some awesome flora and fauna on that island of yours. I have no idea what he's saying, but he's about as excited as a little kid catching fireflies. See you soon!_

_Love,_

_Angela and Jack_

She was not clamming up. But Angela was right, her profession of love for Booth occurred while she was weak. It wouldn't happen again. Brennan knew she had to let go of her feelings for Booth…for him. She wasn't the type of woman that could give him the average American family he desired to raise, no matter how much he loved or liked her.

Ironically enough, the last email was from Booth.

_"Bones,_

_What's up! Sorry we haven't talked by phone in a while. Anyway, I promised to tell you what that incident on base I was involved in. Before I say it, I swear, it wasn't serious. I'm fine. _

_I was hit by friendly fire during a training exercise. Yes, one of the files attached are my x-rays. I thought you'd enjoy them. :) _

_Nothing has really changed on base but more troops are coming in. I don't know how much news you are getting on your little island Bones, but the war is heating up. The strategy has changed though. They are focusing on bringing in civilian peace makers and aid and stuff. I think it's crap, but it's good for my guys._

_We've got like what, 267 more days to go? Are you excited? But I know you; you love your bones Bones! See what I did there? Oh, I have the base address for you just like you asked for. Got any goodies you want to send over? Don't send any of that weird Indonesian food though. The only Asian stuff I like is Thai, and Wong Fu's. But stay safe Bones, I need someone to send me warm socks during the winter. _

_Your Partner,_

_Booth_

_P.S. The third attached file is a picture of me on base!"_

Brennan quickly opened the jpeg attachment. Booth stood in his desert-camouflage uniform, the legs neatly tucked into his boots. His hair was a bit shorter; the Army must have given him a haircut when he deployed. He looked a bit more…rugged. Perhaps that's why she felt oddly attracted to him at the moment. Regretting that she didn't have a printer, she saved the picture and tucked it away into a neat digital file.

_267 days to change…_

**B&B**

"Hey guys! You got three days until you ship your buts out to Kandahar Providence and you are gonna sit there and slop through these exercises?" Booth yelled at the groups. "If you slop through this crap, you're gonna get your asses shot off! And trust me, that's the last thing I want."

He motioned for Herring to come over. "Just get these guy's minds in gear, okay?"

Booth wished that keeping these Rangers going was easier. Yes, they were the Army's elite, but they were just kids.

He wandered to the recreation center, hoping to catch a break. On a whim, he approached the mail window. Maybe Parker had sent that care-package he had been talking about.

"Name please," the bored looking clerk said.

"Sergeant Major Booth."

"One moment please," the clerk wandered back into the dusty stacks of mail.

Booth drummed his fingers impatiently on the counter. Some of the non-combat guys really were slackers. It didn't even look like they had an organizational system back there…

"Hey buddy? You want to go any faster, 'cause I don't know about you, but I got stuff I gotta do."

All he heard was some shuffling around in the back.

"Here you go Sergeant Major," the clerk dropped a shipping box to the counter and pushed it towards Booth.

He grabbed the box. Like a robber making off with a fortune, Booth ran his treasure to his barrack. He didn't care that he was running across the base like frolicking child; he only minded that he carried, in his arms, something from his son.

Reaching the currently empty barrack, he gently placed the package to his cot. He whipped out his knife, cutting the tape. The package had obviously been opened a few times, but that's to be expected when you mail something to a military base in the middle of a war zone where IEDs are common. The knife he cut the haphazardly taped package was the same knife Pops gave to him when he joined the Rangers the first time. He mentioned it to Sweets once; he called it a security blanket or something like that.

Right on the top of the pile of stuff was a card. On the front, drawn in multi-colored crayon, was a tall stick figure labeled "dad," and a smaller one labeled "me."

With a smile, Booth opened the piece of printer paper folded "hamburger" style.

_"Daddy,_

_I drew me and you together! I miss you but I know you're a hero in the Army. I know you are getting all the baddies. Mommy talked to one of your old army friends and he told us what kind of stuff you would like to get in a package! Mommy says it takes a while to get to Afjanistand but I don't know why. Does it take a really long time to get there? Did you get to Afganistand by a hot air balloon? In school we learned about how they work. Did you know that hot air likes to float to the top? That's why it gets hot in your apartment in the summer. I want to tell Dr. Bones about it. Mommy said that she was off somewhere too. Is she with you in Aphganistan with you? _

_Mommy says to stay safe!_

_Parker"_

On the bottom of the page, a hot air balloon was scribbled with two stick figures in it. One labeled "daddy," the other as "Dr. Bones." Her stick figure had wavy lines coming off her head as hair.

Okay, so it they weren't the most accurate likenesses, but it was perfect. Anything Parker did was perfect.

"Oh man," he smiled as he sifted through the contents.

Whoever Rebecca had talked to about what to send him knew what deployment was like alright. Ramen, shampoo, soap, Jeffersonian novelty playing cards, and Propel drink mix.

"This is great stuff!'

Coffee singles, Goldfish, Hamburger Helper Singles, bandanas, Pop Tarts, and candy. God this was going to be a blast.

Tucked in the bottom were two little Nerf Guns, and two paddle balls. You would be surprised how glad an infantryman can get when they see paddle balls. The little stuff really goes a long way when you're so far from home.

"Hey Boss, I thought I'd find you here," Herring barged in. "Wait, are those Nerf guns?'

Booth laughed, "Yeah yeah," he tossed one to the Master Sergeant, delighting the man's inner child.

Herring fell into a pistol shooting stance, shooting one of the Styrofoam darts to the wall. It stuck with a pop suction cup created a miniature air-tight seal.

"Dude, these things are frickin' awesome. Whoa, is that a paddle ball?" The grown man grabbed the plastic toy. "Man, durin' my last deployment, I beat our company Captain in a paddle call competition."

"That's enough of that," Booth took the toy away. "I'm sure you had some reason to come looking for me other than getting in some action with the kiddy toys."

"Yeah," Herring's face grew suddenly serious. "Staff Sergeant Marks showed up in the latest batch of wounded."

"Marks…he was Bartlett's Sarge."

Herring nodded. "I don't know what that means to you, but I thought you might like to know." He patted his superior's shoulder, leaving him alone in the barrack.

If Marks was hurt…that meant Bartlett was seeing action. Even though he only spent a month with the kid, Booth couldn't help but think of the guy as his little brother. The kind of brother you want to help.

_You should go see him…_

The medical pavilion was on the other side of base; a good ten minute walk. Feeling like he needed the exercise (and as Bones once pointed out, the endorphins made him happy), he broke into a sprint. It felt good, the dry desert air whipping at his face.

"Where's the fire?" someone yelled at him as he went.

He reached the medical building, sweat beading on his brow. He pushed into the air conditioned building, walking with purpose towards the closest solider he could find.

"Hey, do you know where I can find a Staff Sergeant Marks?''

"Yeah," the woman nodded, paging through a clipboard. "He's down the hall on the bay to your right."

Without even a thank you, Booth followed the woman's directions down the hall. Like any Army hospital or medical outpost, the sounds of wounded men and woman could be heard prominently. It was a sound that in his time in the Rangers, he had become all too accustomed to.

"S-Sergeant M-Major Booth?" a weak voice from his left spoke.

"Hey Marks, how ya doin'?"

The guy was in bad shape. It looked like shrapnel had entered the right side of his face, causing swelling and discoloration. His left arm was in a sling, his hand poking out in a cast.

Booth placed a kind hand on the younger man's arm. "You okay?"

Marks tried to nod, "I'm okay Sarge."

"That's great."

"…Car bomb. It was a car bomb on the side of the road…we pulled the humvee up…a-and it went off."

"Hey now," Booth said softly. "No reason to talk about that stuff now."

"I know you want to know about Bartlett," somehow, a smile formed on Marks' face. "The kid's fine."

Booth was flooded with relief.

"Now how about this," the Sergeant Major patted the hand of the injured Ranger. "Why don't I hang around with you for a while eh?"

"That'd be awesome buddy."

A nurse brought a tray of food over. "Dinner. Do you need help eating?"

"I'll help him," he took the tray. "What do you want first?"

"I don't care, as long as it isn't that crap pudding. J-Just hand it to me. I can do it from there."

"You don't like the pudding?" Booth eyed the vanilla pudding like prey.

"I hate the stuff they give you in the hospital. It's nothin' to what my grandma would make."

"You wouldn't mind if I took it then…right?"

"It's all yours."

"Great!" Booth dug into the pudding. Maybe the food on base wasn't so bad after all.

_267 days to wait for care packages…_

**B&B**

_**I have one more day of exams then I'm done! Reviews are like accelerants on a fire. Turns inflammable to oh boy. Add some strontium chloride, magnesium sulfate, and copper chloride and you'll be set for the 4th of July!**_

_**Twitter - objectivemiss**_


	9. Chapter 9

_**I know it's been a bit, but I'm working on other stuff for you guys to enjoy. I've got a 4th of July fic on the way. I don't know when the other one I'm working on will be done. Don't forget, I'm objectivemiss on Twitter!**_

_**Happy summer everyone! Enjoy!**_

**B&B**

_Day 127_

**B&B**

"Angie!" Brennan pulled her best friend into her arms.

"I'm sorry we're like a week late, but Jack here decided to change our travel plans."

"How so?" she pulled back a bit.

"Well according to him, it's much easier to get here from Australia. So we flew to Sydney and spent some time, and then we flew up to Darwin in the north. Charming really."

"From there," Hodgins burst in, "we sailed north. It was only about eighteen hours and the weather was good so-"

Brennan enveloped the scientist in a hug mid-sentence.

"I missed you too Dr. B," he smiled genuinely.

"Sweetie you're so…" Angela circled the anthropologist, "fit."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You're all tan and muscular, not to mention totally hot."

"Why thank you."

She had really had forgotten what it was like to have people around like Angela and Hodgins. They were not only extremely competent, but also enjoyable to work with and fraternize with outside of the lab. Judging by outward signs of happiness, married life seemed to have treated them in a loving manner. But Brennan couldn't help but a feel a bit of jealously; Angela had found a companion that made her extremely happy. And while she did not plan to marry, the prospect of companionship and its ensuing happiness was enviable.

"Do you guys know how rad the diving is here?" Hodgins asked excitedly. "Due to low human population and virtually no commercial fishing, the reef system is awesome. Mandarin fish and the Ambon scorpion fish, not to mention the spinner dolphins, orcas-"

"Thanks honey, but I've heard this whole thing three times over."

"You know," he smiled innocently, "according to my iPad, the currents today are extremely mild."

"Go on big boy, enjoy the water."

Hodgins planted a kiss on Angela's cheek bounding off.

"Now sweetie, we need to talk," she guided the Brennan by the shoulders towards the nearby beach.

"About what?"

"Don't play dumb."

"I would never consider feigning stupidity."

"About Booth silly."

"What about him?"

Angela stopped, looking the anthropologist in the eye, "Are you for real?"

"I'm quite sure of my own existence. As Descartes said, through one's thought one can be sure of one's existence, but not the nature of one's existence due to the inability to live outside our own experiences," Brennan sat down on the warmed sand.

"You could not have possibly rationalized your feelings that quickly," Angela dropped down beside her.

"Isn't the water beautiful?" she looked out on upon the cerulean blue water, the darker outlines of coral reefs visible.

"Sweetie, I know you like to avoid the issue, but completely trying to change the subject...that's a new low," Angela played with a shell.

"I don't know what that means."

"You're clamming up!" the artist put two shells together, making them pivot at the back joint in a biting motion, laughing at the humor.

"Those aren't clam shells, they are oysters."

"You get my point."

"No, no I don't," Brennan said with frustration. Angela always tried to make her speak of awkward things and quite frankly, it was uncomfortable.

"Do I have to spell it out for you?"

"I'm quite capable of understanding your vernacular without you annunciating every letter."

Angela shook her head. "Look, you told me that you think you might love Booth-"

"That is an inaccurate statement."

"Seriously? I think we both know what you are feeling," she put a hand on Brennan. "You can't just bottle up your feelings like this. It's bad. It's like shaking up a Coke bottle. There's pressure. And that pressure isn't good. You know what happens when you open up a shaken Coke bottle, right?"

"The carbon dioxide rushes out of the liquid it was forced into."

"Exactly. But if you let the pressure out slowly…" Angela made a twisting motion. "You don't have such explosive results."

"Are you saying that Booth and I will explode?" Brennan furrowed her brow.

"Metaphorically. Get out of the literal zone."

"You don't understand," the anthropologist's eyes began to tear. "I can't do this…"

"Why not?"

"It's to protect him," she scooped up some sand in her hand, watching as it as the small granules slipped through her fingers. "I don't have the ability to give him the meaningful, love-laden relationship that he both wants and deserves."

"Sweetie," Angela looked at her. "Yes you can. You have an open heart."

"Humans have a closed circulatory system. Invertebrates have open circulatory systems-"

"Don't do that! Don't hide behind facts like that!"

Brennan shook her head, looking down at the sand, her lips a tight line, quivering with emotion. She tucked her long hair behind her ears to keep it out of her downward facing features.

Feelings were always messy to deal with. They were easier just to shove them away for a rainy day. But what Angela was doing, was forcing her to face these feelings head on.

"I-I can't do it."

"Yes you can."

"Then what I am supposed to do then?"

"Tell him."

"How? You said that telling him over email wasn't personal enough."

Angela smiled, "Next time he calls, you tell him."

Brennan nodded.

"Dr. B?" Daisy ran over to the pair. "Oh and Ms. Montenegro!"

"Actually, it's Mrs. Hodgins."

"Oh wow," Daisy flubbed. "But anyway, we're about to eat lunch and was wondering if you two wanted to join us. I would never dream of letting Dr. B here miss an opportunity for good conversation."

"We'll be along shortly," Brennan said.

Daisy still stood behind the pair, a massive smile on her face.

"That means that you can leave."

"Oh I'm so sorry! I'll be along now and I'll see you there in a few minutes or whenever you want to okay? Bye!"

Angela laughed at the antics of the young anthropologist. "How do you survive with her?"

"She's actually not bad at all," Brennan stated. "She is growing into a fine anthropologist."

"You mean she isn't running you up a wall?"

She recognized the saying, "Not at all."

"I'm starving," Angela got to her feet. "Which way is the food?"

Brennan pointed a grouping of huts.

"Aren't you coming?"

"I'll be along in a while."

This wasn't going to be easy. Angela wanted her to verbalize her feelings to Booth. To Booth. She didn't want to. What if something she said upset him during his deployment? Or worse, what if he had already moved on? The last thing she wanted to do was cause him pain. No, she couldn't tell him; it would be selfish to do so. Telling him would simply make herself feel better; but there was no way to accurate way to predict how he would react to her statement.

But she was a scientist; she knew how to ask questions and find cause and effect relationships.

First, she had to ask a question. Would Booth be upset if she were to tell him that she could possibly have romantic feelings for him?

Secondly, she had to do background research; this would be easy with her history with Booth. In all the time that they had been partners, he valued honesty, although he approved of the telling of "white lies." And recently, with his own confession of love, he was waiting for her to reciprocate.

Thirdly, she had to construct a hypothesis. From her reminiscing, she could assume that he actually might be happy if she told him how she felt. Thus, _if_ I tell Booth that I may have feelings for him beyond friendship, _then _he will react in a positive manner.

Of course, the next step was to test the hypothesis with an experiment.

_If I tell Booth how I feel, it will be out of a scientific curiosity._

Satisfied with her rationalization, Brennan got up from the sand and walked off towards the eating area. Briefly, she hoped that Angela was getting along well with the members of her team. But remembering that Angela once described herself as a social butterfly, she must be able to get along decently well in unfamiliar social situations.

"Sweetie!' Angela waved her over, motioning to an open spot on the bench next to her.

Assuming that she meant the spot for her, Brennan sat down at the crowded table that she had eaten at the past 127 days.

"Ian here was telling me how much progress you guys have been making."

Mikel smiled warmly, "A lot of that is due to your friend Temperance here."

Brennan blushed; she was never particularly graceful at accepting praise. "Why thank you Mikel, but it really has been a full team effort."

"Bren, have you heard anything from Cam lately?" Angela stuffed her mouth with the local cuisine.

"She informed me that Clark was doing a magnificent job running the lab. Why, have you?"

"I talked with Cam last month," the artist smiled broadly. "She had a very funny story to tell about you and a frat party."

The forensic anthropologist blushed furiously, "That is a private story."

"I think I'd like to hear this," Merrill said, just sitting down.

"Well," Angela began. "It all started during her sophomore year…"

"I'm not going to hear this," Brennan jumped from the table.

"What? I haven't even gotten to the good part with the lampshade!" Angela shook her head with a laugh. "Anthropologists…"

_Just 238 more days to wait out the embarrassment…_

**B&B**

"So I say to the guy," Dr. Major Marcus Moore shoved a burger into his already full mouth, "that this is no laughing matter."

"Look sir, aren't you supposed to be eating in the officer's mess?" Booth interrupted the trauma surgeon's story.

"I hate the place; too stuffy and clean. But anyways, so I walk down the hall, and there the kid is!"

"Sir, I think it's illegal to love your job that much," Booth laughed along.

"Only in Europe," Moore winked.

"Sir-"

"How many times have I told you not to call me that," the Major waved his fork at the Sergeant Major.

"I'm just following proper procedure; I still salute you, don't I?"

"The Army could make a private and I wouldn't care. I'm here to treat the wounded, that's all. But no, I'm a doctor, so they have to make me all special."

Booth shook his head with amusement. Working with the Jeffersonian, he met plenty of doctors. And if there was anything that he learned, they could be wild characters. Bones was hyper rational, Hodgins was a nerd, Cam was more or less normal…but Moore, he was just such an odd customer. He loved to be a surgeon and was excellent, but he hoped to God that he never had to find out firsthand how good he was. All the guys in the worst shape were sent to him. Guys with their faces ripped off, missing limbs, impaled…the list of gruesome things the Major had seen went on and on.

"This seat taken?" Herring sloppily dropped his tray to the table, the questionable food on it flying every which way. "Oops, sorry about that sir," he handed Moore a napkin to wipe himself off.

"Not a problem Sarge," the Major took the napkin gratefully. "I swear, the biggest thing preventive medicine has to deal with around here is food related sickness."

"Sergeant Major Booth," a voice behind the Major said. "May I borrow you for a moment or two?"

The trio jumped to their feet to salute. The voice was Brigadier General Kirk Richards; one of the base's most senior officers.

"At ease," the Brigadier General moved to whisper in Booth's ear. "We've got a situation outside of base. We could use your expertise. I have a squad and a rifle for you ready to go. You'll need a spotter."

"Herring," Booth turned. "You any good at spotting?"

"I do fine boss. Just fine."

"Alright then, if you would come with me and the General," he said, then looking at Moore. "Sorry sir, we can finish our lunch some other time."

"You betcha' buddy."

The General led the two outside, "This is Second Lieutenant Randal Hahn. He'll take you two from here. God speed."

"Afternoon," Hahn motioned for Booth and Herring to follow. "At 1125 hours this morning, a base patrol noted five individuals to the ridgeline to the north. Since then, we have fired warning shots and have attempted to make remote contact. Preliminary reports show these individuals armed."

A few men came over, helping Booth and Herring into body armor. They handed Booth a sniper rifle, and gave Herring a laser range finder, as well as binoculars.

"With all active sniper units deployed, we need you two to set up along our ridgeline and provide cover as well as intel. Bravo Squad of the 2nd Battalion is going to move to contact."

"Yes sir," Booth saluted.

"Good luck."

In Booth's hands, was the new army M110 Semi-Automatic Sniper System (SASS); a big step up from the old M24 he had used back in his ranger days. He dropped to the most stable sniper position, the prone position, splaying his legs out for stability. He pulled down the stabilizers, ready to fire.

Herring crouched beside him, deploying the laser range finder. "Alright, contacts north, approximately 981 meters. We've got crosswind to the east."

"Got it," Booth made the appropriate adjustments. The targets were just inside the M110's effective 1000 meter range.

The Master Sergeant trained the binoculars in on the targets. "Bravo squad is moving in from the west, I've got three contacts. Two definitely armed."

"Roger."

"Bravo squad is engaging, watch the contact with the RPG."

Booth squeezed the trigger.

"You're off to the right by ten meters."

He squeezed the trigger again as the RPG man loaded a grenade.

The target fell soundlessly.

"Nice shot boss; looks like Bravo squad has it all cleaned up."

Booth had taken another life. Sniping was clean and distant; noting like shooting a murder with a pistol close enough to see the whites of his eyes. But it was a life, never less. He hadn't come out here to kill; he had agreed to train Rangers. To save lives. Bones wasn't going to be happy when he heard he saw action. Although she understood that he would rather not kill, what would upset her is the danger he was in. No matter how much he would tell her that he wasn't even in danger, that he was over 100 football fields away, he knew that she would get the look in her eye. The look of fear.

"Nice goin' boss," Herring slapped him on the back. "You gonna move or what?"

"Yeah…" he scooped up the rifle, putting the safety on. 

"They're probably goin' to make us get debriefed and everythin'. Damn, that's why I went into trainin'. You know what I'm sayin'?" Herring started back to the center of base with Booth in tow.

"Herring, don't you think it was strange that there were contacts that close to base?"

"It's a warzone. That kind of shit happens."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it."

"I see, you hate pullin' the trigger."

"I'm not wimp. I just didn't come out here to kill terrorists."

"I know what this is about," Herring stopped the Sergeant Major. "This is really 'bout your girl, isn't it?"

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"She's one of those worryin' types, ain't she?"

"I'm not going to discuss this with you," Booth said through gritted teeth.

"Fine by me boss."

Second Lieutenant Randal Hahn was waiting for the pair. "Excellent work. I see now why we have guys like you training Rangers. We'll debrief you two at 0800 hours tomorrow. Take a rest. Finish your lunch." Hahn and crew took the equipment from them, taking it back to the armory.

Booth walked off alone. The stress and the hot desert sun had zapped him of energy. Despite the early hour, all he wanted to do was sleep. He kicked up the dust as he went, making a beeline for the barracks. The shortest distance between two points was a line, but Bones always insisted that it was a wormhole formed by bending space. What a load of crap he thought that was.

He unlaced his boots and crashed to his bed, not even bothering to take of his sand-covered and sweet soaked clothing. Booth pulled the light blanket over him, his polka dotted and rainbow striped socks poking out. His unit liked to give him a hard time about his flashy socks, but he didn't care. Just like in the FBI how he rebelled with a garish tie and cocky belt buckle, the only way to stick it to the man in the Army was the socks.

He wondered what Bones was doing now. Was she sleeping? Working? Or had Angela and Hodgins finally arrived? She seemed enthused when she told him that they were coming to visit. Honestly, anything that made her happy made him happy. Except maybe, boring lectures from old crusty professors. He hated that crap. Oh, and foreign films too. Who wanted to go to a movie when you can't even understand what the people on screen were saying?" It was pointless as far as he was concerned.

Pushing all thoughts from his mind, Booth forced his eyes shut and awaited sweet sleep.

**B&B**

_**I'd just like to thank everyone for the support. Your reviews really keep me going. While I'm too proud to beg (I hope…), reviews do bring a smile to my face and encourage me to write faster! **_


	10. Chapter 10

_**Wow! We made it to chapter 10! It seems like ages ago that I began this. Well maybe not for you, but it seems like a year to me. I would have updated earlier, but I have something special for all of you on the 4th of July. Not to mention another thing. What I'm working on is always posted on my Twitter (objectivemiss). **_

_**By the way, I realized I lead a love affair with semicolons. Kurt Vonnegut said that "They are transvestite hermaphrodites representing absolutely nothing. All they do is show you've been to college." While I have not yet been to college, I like my semicolons and I hope that does not stop your enjoyment of this fic. **_

_**Twitter - objectivemiss**_

_**Enjoy!**_

**B&B**

_Day 160_

**B&B**

It was raining. Suffice to say, Brennan didn't like it. Although logically, she knew that rain was simply liquid precipitation caused by the condensation of atmospheric water vapor, it was simply distracting from the work that needed to be done. She knew that the water was needed for both plant and animal life to flourish; it was simply disruptive to the entire team's schedule. Every time it would rain, she would lay in bed simply allowing the sounded of rhythmic beat of H2O. Whether it was before her parents disappeared or after when she was stuck in abusive foster homes, it was a source of comfort.

So it was in these wee hours of the morning that Brennan hung out her hut's permanently open windows, simply watching the rain fall to the ground and puddle. She hadn't been sleeping well lately; nightmares had always been a reoccurring issue in her sleep, but lately, that had become more prevalent. Taphephobia is the fear of being buried alive. Phobia, from Greek phóbos, meaning "fear" or "morbid fear," is irrational by definition. But when one considers that serial killers like Heather Taffet, the "Gravedigger," exist, the fear of being ensepulchered until death by suffocation.

"Dr. B?" the sleepy voice of Daisy Wick said accented with a yawn.

"Yes?"

"Why are you awake, it's like four AM?"

She debated internally whether or not to open up to the young woman. "I have not been sleeping well."

"I'm been told I'm an extremely adept listener and I would be more than willing to lend an ear."

"I appreciate your offer, but I already have two functioning ears. I have no need for another."

"You're so funny!"

Brennan turned from the rain scene.

"Oh…" Daisy looked down, "you were being serious…"

"I've been told that I can be…austere."

"I don't think that you're that serious…or at least to a bad extent. Like a 'death glare' length or where-"

The senior anthropologist's unhappy glare caused her to stop rambling.

"Sorry, I'm trying to kick the habit of babbling."

"You could learn a polysynthetic language so that you could cram more morphemes in to fewer words, thus allowing you to talk as much as you want," Brennan smiled.

Daisy stared at her blankly.

"That was an attempt at humor," she stated.

Why didn't people get her humor? Booth did…sometimes; but only if she used small and easy to digest words. Digestion occurs faster if surface area is increased with allows a larger area for reaction, thus quickening it. Mentally she shook herself to the present; she was going off on a tangent.

"Dr. B, I hope you don't mind but I'm still really really tired and I'm going to go back to sleep."

"That's perfectly acceptable. I apologize for waking you."

"Oh no, you didn't make me. I wake up periodically, that's all."

"Enjoy your rest."

Brennan turned her attention back out the window to the rain. She rested her head against the windowsill. She noted a shadowy figure off in the heated haze; male judging the hip structure. As the figure neared, the darkness revealed more and more of the jogging man. It was Keith Merrill, the intern. He actually had a decent musculature judging by his silhouette. He was a bit young though.

"Dr. B!" he yelled.

"Quiet Keith," she looked over her shoulder to check on Daisy. "Daisy is sleeping," she said in a hushed tone.

"Sorry," he said quietly. "Any better?"

"Yes, but what can I do for you?"

"Yeah, it's my shift in the comm. hut, and some Sergeant Major," he made skeptical air quote gesticulations in the air, "is calling for you."

With great excitement, Brennan jumped to her feet and ran from the hut.

"Hey! Do you want me to get you an umbrella or something?"

The heavy downpour didn't matter; Booth was on the line. They hadn't talked for twenty-seven days, during Angela and Hodgin's visit. They shared a conference call in which, luckily, no detail of any college frat parties had been shared. Had Booth know what had transpired that night…he would have severely ridiculed her during that case they worked a year or two ago with the frat boy that was found mutilated in a mascot costume.

The rain wet her hair and soaked through her thin tank top. She wasn't even wearing shoes she had rushed out so quickly; the rain drenched ground squished through her toes. Rationally, she should have stopped to slip on a pair of waterproof shoes with ankle support. The water saturated ground had an extremely low friction; it would be all too easy to slip and injure her ankle, even a break to the fibula depending on the fall.

She pushed through the flimsy door into the communications hut, her feet leaving muddy footprints. She would have to pick that up. The phone rested next to the cradle. She picked it up.

**B&B**

Shit, it was 1:03AM. Shit, it was _only _1:03 AM. Booth lay in the barrack looking up at the blank ceiling. Well, empty, except for the giant Megan Fox poster that Corporal Will Austin had stapled to it. She was the Betty Grable of the War in Afghanistan alright, and this new group really made it obvious.

He rolled to his side, trying to fall asleep. But just his luck, whatever schmuck had the bed next to him was snoring, and loudly at that. Damn it! All he wanted to do was jump out of bed and flip the neighboring mattress off its frame and shut that stupid snorer up. Usually, he would just threaten to shoot the person in question, but everyone in the Army had a gun; so it didn't carry as much weight as threatening a poor little scientist.

Deciding that he wasn't going to get any sleep, he slid out of bed, and quickly yet quietly pulled his boots on, not even bothering to lace them up. He stealthily left the barrack, meeting the dry desert air. The days on base were terribly hot, but the evenings could be surprisingly cold. Ignoring the little amount of protection that his wife-beater offered, he hustled over to the recreation building. The place was open 24-7; plenty of guys felt tremendous stress and dealt with it any way they could. While the Army offered mental health specialists, many soldiers didn't want to deal with that crap. Plenty were restless like him; so the center had TV and games all night.

The center wasn't buzzing, but there certainly were people there. Two guys were zoned out in front of some reality TV show. One guy played ping pong alone against a half propped up table Forest Gump style. Otherwise, a few lounged on a few overstuffed chairs and couches.

Booth plopped down in front of the TV with nothing else to do.

"You want to change it to something decent?" one of the watchers complained.

"Nah man, I like this crap."

"Why don't we just find some news," Booth suggested.

"Too depressin'. I don't want to hear about our war."

"Come on," he pointed at the small TV, "just look at this crap. They're shooting water guns."

"Yeah," one of the guys crossed his arms. "Those girls aren't even close to being hot."

Finally, the couch potato pair changed it to CNN.

_"Tonight, more news of Predator Drone strikes in Pakistan. It is reported that major Al Queda leaders were killed or injured in the strike. We also hear that three American soldiers were killed in a reported helicopter malfunction in the Khost providence. Three more soldiers are MIA as of tonight."_

Frustrated, one of the guys threw the remote at the TV, somehow managing to shut it off. They were right; no wonder no one liked to watch the news around here. It was just painful.

"See man, I told ya. No news for me."

"You said it bro. You said it…"

He hadn't left the barracks to hear more crap. He stood up suddenly, moving for a quiet corner.

_Is it really that hard to find decent company?_

Now he really missed Bones. It was really too bad that she was probably sleeping. When they were back in D.C., they would talk at all hours of the night.

_It wouldn't hurt to try to call her…_

Guessing that if anything, it would take some time off his hands, Booth slunk over to the pay phones, whipping out his calling card. Luckily, he took to keeping it handy; he never knew when he would get the guts up to call Bones.

_"Hello, Keith Merrill speaking…"_ a sleepy kid answered the phone.

"Yeah, is this still the Maluku site?"

_"Yeah, no way it could change. Dude, you know it's like 4 AM here right?"_

"Don't dude me buddy. I'm lookin' for Dr. Temperance Brennan, know her?"

_"Of course I know her. How could I not?"_

"Well…could I speak to her?"

_"She's probably sleeping."_

"You don't know that."

_"It's pouring. Do you seriously want me to go check?"_

"If she's awake and wants to talk, then I'd like to."

_"Can I get your name at least?"_

Booth debated whether to yank the kid around a bit. Nah. If he was one of Bones' guys, he couldn't be that bad. "I'm Sergeant Major Booth. We're very good friends."

_"You're that guy she talks about!"_

"Oh really?" he couldn't hid a smile that she found him worth mentioning. Well, how could she not; they were partners after all.

_"Yeah yeah. Hey, it may take me a bit to get down to her hut. Give me like ten minutes, I'll be back I promise."_

"Thanks man." Booth drummed his fingers against the wall. It was going to be a long ten minutes.

All he knew about the dig site was that it was big. Wait, she lived in a hut? Bones said that she shared a room with Daisy…but a hut? That was worse than he was off! Man, he thought the barracks could be bad!

Suddenly tired he rested his head against the wall, allowing his eyes to close.

_"Hello?"_

**B&B**

_"Hello? Booth? Are you there?"_

_"Bones!"_

_"Why did you call at such an hour?"_

_"Why are you awake at such an hour?"_

_"Touché. Is something wrong? Are you okay?"_

_"Yeah everything is fine…I just wanted to talk."_

_"By my calculations it's 1 AM in Kabul. Are you suffering from insomnia?"_

_"Bones. I'm fine. Trust me. Okay?"_

_"I trust you."_

_"Good. How's the dig going?"_

_"Quite satisfactorily. Adi is revealing quite a bit on the development of the homo genus._

_"Is Adi the skeleton? Or some sort of new intern you got on your hands."_

_"Booth. The majority of my team is not comprised of interns. Rather, highly acclaimed anthropologists, all except Daisy and Keith with doctorates."_

_"I need you to remind me of something."_

_"Sure."_

_"Something happened over here. I don't want to tell you about it over the phone…"_

_"Why not? It's just a medium of communication."_

_"I want to tell you in person okay? Remind me."_

_"I will. I-I need to tell you something."_

_"Go ahead Bones."_

_"I-I think that after quite a bit of thought, that I feel…"_

_"Bones? Is your connection crummy? You were breaking up."_

_"Yes, it must be the connection or something like that…"_

_"What were you saying?"_

_"I-It's nothing. I'll tell you when you tell me what you wanted to tell me."_

_"It's a deal Bones. That sounds good to me."_

_"So anything else worth noting?"_

_"Hey, my calling card is running out of time. I used most if it calling Parker the other day."_

_"I can send you a new one. Did you get my care package?"_

_"No not yet. Where the heck did you send it from?"_

"Where else could I send it from? The locals said that it had to be sent by courier to Jakarta before being sent anywhere."

_"I had better go Bones…"_

_"Bye…stay safe okay?"_

"You got it."

**B&B**

She hadn't said it. She had _almost_ said it, but she turkeyed out. Or was it "chickened out"…

Brennan couldn't help but feel embarrassed; she was stronger than that. As she had told Angela, she _wanted_ to say that she could…possibly have feelings for him. She was angry at herself; that didn't happen also

Great, now she was emotionally distressed, without shoes, soaked, and muddy.

She felt like hitting something. It would be an efficient way to dissipate her anger. It wasn't like she had much experience with these sorts of feeling.

She picked up a towel lying on the counter, using it to first dry herself off, then to wipe the mud off her feet. Why had she run out without putting shoes on again? Brennan dropped heavily to the room's couch, running a shaky hand through her hair. The phone call had affected her more than she would care to admit. Nothing had really transpired of note in the call, but she was too weak to even tell him how she felt.

"Dr. B?" Keith timidly stepped into the communications hut brandishing a pair of shoes. "I kinda figured that you didn't want to walk back…or anywhere, without shoes," he shrugged.

Brennan smiled, "Thanks."

"Was the call really that exciting that you ran off without these?" he placed the shoes on the floor in front of her.

"You'd be surprised."

"Well considering you, it must have been uber important. Like 'world is going to end' important. Or 'I could tell you, but I'd have to kill you' important. Or-"

"I think I get the idea."

"No problem. I'm great at exaggerating," the intern grinned.

She pulled on the shoes; he hadn't brought socks. "You're use of hyperbole is notable."

"What a compliment," Keith laughed. "Hey look, I'm gonna grab some shut eye before I work. Are you good?"

Brennan debated whether or not to mention the lack of socks. In the end, she decided against it. "I'm good."

All she could do is wait to see what Booth had to say to her.

_Just 200 more days to wait to hear what Booth has to say…_

**B&B**

He hadn't said it. He just couldn't bring himself to tell her about the whole sniper deal. Booth knew she would be upset; more than upset. He had promised her that he would be just doing training. Booth didn't break his promises. It just wasn't something that he did. But when the Army tells you to do something, you can't exactly say no.

"What are you doing up you lug," someone said from behind him.

Booth turned, it was Moore. "Just can't sleep. You?"

"I had the late shift. I usually drop by here and grab something from the vending machine. They stock the medical vending machine with the crap. They only have baked chips over there! Here, they got the real stuff."

He laughed, following the surgeon to the vending machine.

"There we go…" he inserted a few quarters into the machine, pressing a few buttons. Much to the Major's joy, a bag of cheddar and sour cream chips dropped. "My favorite!" he ripped the bag open with his teeth. "Want one?"

"Sure, hit me," Booth made a grab for the bag.

"Hey man, don't get greedy."

"Fine," the Sergeant Major settled for a few of the chips.

"So who were you talking with? Before we start this conversation I have to warn you, I have to get the minimum required sleep so I can be ready to fix up anyone that comes in tomorrow."

"Wait, isn't there another guy to do that?"

"Yes, but no offence to him, I'm better. No getting out of that question though," Moore munched on his chips.

"I was talking to Bones."

"Ah, the lady friend anthropologist," he put air quotes around "lady friend."

"The one and only."

"She get me that signed book yet?"

"I emailed it, but she said she doesn't have any copies on her. She said she would send you one when she gets home. Will you still be on base then?"

The Major shook his head, "I leave a month before you do."

"Getting moved?"

"No, getting done."

"If that was supposed to be sexual…"

"No Booth. I'm done with the Army. All I want to do is take a trauma surgeon position. I was thinking Johns Hopkins."

"Well…it's near D.C., I approve."

"Oh, you approve," Moore smiled. "I have to go sleep now. Not that I really want to. You should catch some shuteye too," he laid a hand on his shoulder.

With Moore gone and nothing else to do, Booth wandered back to the barrack. He slid back into bed, hopefully unnoticed. He forced his eyes shut, falling into sleep.

_Just 200 more days to figure out what Bones wanted to tell him…_

**B&B**

_**For those of you who said that avoiding telling that special something was very Brennan like, you win the Bones prize. I was so Brennan like it had to happen. **_

_**Send me a review and thanks for your support. Sorry if I missed replying to anyone's review; if I plan on writing more back I typically save it to write at my computer instead of my phone. Hope you enjoyed!**_

_**Twitter - objectivemiss **_


	11. Chapter 11

_**Hey everyone! I know it's been a while, but I was away all weekend and I didn't have an opportunity to write. Then when I got back, I had writer's block. Thank you for your patience and enjoy!**_

_**One sentence of this is in Yoda speak (I did it on accident). See if you can find it!**_

_**Twitter - Objectivemiss**_

**B&B**

_Day 201_

**B&B**

"Absolutely not," Brennan protested vehemently.

Today, she was in Jakarta, the capital and largest city in Indonesia. She sat in Jakarta's National Research Centre of Archaeology, the dominant anthropological analysis in the region. Jakarta was a teeming metropolis, but the "office" (more like a darkened storage closet) she was in screamed obsolete.

"It simply isn't fair for the remains to be sequestered by a small group of scientists." Dr. Putra Wibawa of the center argued. "Just allow us to have them for a few months. Two or three perhaps?"

"Dr. Wibawa, I said no. Were it my intention to allow you to have the remains for any amount of time, I would have denoted that by saying 'yes.' 'No' is a negative used to express dissent, denial, or refusal, as in response to a question or request."

"I understand what no means Dr. Brennan!" Dr. Wibawa practically leap across the table separating her from the panel of, notably all male, doctors.

"Now now Putra," Dr. Purnoma Surya patted Wibawa's hand. "Dr. Brennan…may I call you Temperance?"

"Dr. Brennan will suffice," she crossed her arms.

"Please just consider our proposition. Our facilities can surely add tools to your arsenal."

Booth called this routine "good cop, bad cop"; apparently they did it well together in the interrogation room. It was essentially a psychological tactic used to induce stress on the subject. Whether this was intended by the doctors, was another story entirely. If they even _trying_ to use this rudimentary tactic, then they were sorely underestimating her intelligence.

"No. My facility, compared to anything in this region, is state of the art. "

"This is our area Dr. Brennan," a third doctor, Dwi Tirto, leaned over the table, "we don't appreciate some…orang luar taking over the investigation."

Dr. Surya smiled sympathetically, "Orang luar means-"

"Outsider. I know," she nodded.

"I'm not afraid to use the…influence…that we have here," Dr. Wibawa leered menacingly.

"Is that a threat?" Brennan cocked her head. She was not about to allow these men to muscle her into any decision that she was not willing to make herself.

"No no no no no!" Surya, the "nice one," tried to calm the fuming anthropologist. "Please, the remains will be fine in our care. You and your team can take a month or two of rest and relaxation that you surely deserve. Students of the late Dr. Tenku Jacob would like to continue his manner of research with hominoid remains."

These men had no idea what they were talking about. Casually, she leaned forward. "December 2004, Teuku Jacob removed Homo floresiensis' remains from _your_ repository. February 2005, remains were returned; portions severely damaged…two missing bones of the leg…deep cuts marking the lower edge of the mandible…one mandible snapped off and glued back together misaligned and at an incorrect angle…"

"That's enough Dr. Brennan-"

"The pelvis was smashed, destroying details that would reveal body shape, gait and evolutionary history. So I can assume that you have heard enough? Because if by continuing Dr. Tenku Jacob's research, you mean the destruction of crucial links in the human evolutionary ladder, then I cannot drop the remains off here. Not to mention that your blocked access to the cave of H. floresiensis for two years until the death of Dr. Jacob in 2007."

"I understand your reservations," Dr. Surya, ever the negotiator, said. "We, just like anyone else, want to see the magnificent discovery you have on your hands."

"I am not trying to enisle the remains…'Adi,' as me team likes to call her-"

"Meaning precious…very fitting."

"You and any anthropologists or paleoanthropologists that want to see and examine the remains are welcome to visit the site," Brennan nodded.

"I think we can agree with that," everyone stood but Dr. Wibawa, who crossed his arms in obvious anger.

"Certainly," Brennan cordially shook hand with the two doctors; she simply acknowledged the sitting doctor with a nod.

She gladly left the moth-ball smelling room; Daisy and Merrill jumped to their feet. Reluctantly, she brought the two interns along after Mikel insisted that she not travel alone. Despite her stubbornness, the older anthropologist insisted that it wouldn't only be safer, but a broadening and educational experience for them. With an argument like that, she was unable to say no.

They caught a small plane run by Merpati once a week to Ambon and from there, a flight to Jakarta. It took them an extra three days to get to Jakarta due to bad weather; the small, one engine planes that few back and forth in the region were very unstable. With the seas somewhat notorious for piracy, planes, however wavering, were the safest means of travel.

"Did everything go okay in there Dr. B?" Merrill handed her bag back.

"Are we going to have to come back to this place?" Daisy looked disgusted. "It's gross back here."

Brennan smiled triumphantly, "They are not trying to seize the remains as long as we allow them to see and examine the remains."

"Well that isn't so bad," he shrugged, walking alongside the senior anthropologist. "I mean, we get a pretty steady flow of anthropologists who want to see the remains, so it isn't a big deal…right?"

"My thoughts exactly," she confirmed.

"Well, our flight is in exactly," Daisy looked hurriedly down at her watch, "13 hours. It's tomorrow morning pending weather."

"I booked us a hotel."

"You did?" Merrill halted. "That was…thoughtful."

"Yes, yes it was," Brennan grinned. "Let's flag a cab and head over there."

"I'll do it!" Daisy rushed to the curb.

She couldn't help but laugh at the antics of the peppy intern trying to catch a cap. Almost reluctantly, she waved her arms timidly, leaning out towards the rush of chaotic Jakartan traffic. Daisy wasn't conditioned to work in this kind of environment; perhaps it was good that both she and Merrill had tagged along.

Realizing that if Daisy continued, they wouldn't make it back to their hotel for hours, she stepped up to the curb. As the usual 'FBI you're all under arrest' wouldn't work in a foreign nation such as this, she settled for a shrill whistle. Like scared FBI techs exposed to the wrath of an angry Dr. Temperance Brennan, cabs seemed to fling themselves at the group.

Jumping into the first cab, the three anthropologists slid into the bench seat.

"Grand Hyatt," Brennan said curtly, already shuffling through her bag to make sure that she had enough Indonesian rupiahs to cover the trip.

The hotel was just 2.8 kilometers down the Jalan Mohammad Husni Thamrin road; they could have easily walked, but considering their very long day at the museum, a few rupiahs for a five minute drive was more than worth it.

Soon enough, the cab pulled up into the Hyatt's large roundabout. Brennan shoved a few bills through the cabbie's window; more than enough to cover that short trip five times.

"Woah, this isn't a half bad place," Merrill exclaimed as he pulled his well worn leather bag from the trunk.

"It's late so they should have our rooms ready," she walked up to the main entryway, muttering a thank you to the door man.

The lobby was opulent, with fountains in every direction. Daisy and Merrill looked around in wonder, admiring the stunning architecture and craftsmanship. She strode to the marble-floored reception; the walls behind the desks adorned with mahogany.

"I'm Temperance Brennan; I have a reservation for three rooms."

The receptionist looked down at her computer, typing undistinguishable words into the system. "Yes I have your reservation. However, due to the lateness of your check-in, we need some time to prepare your rooms. May I suggest you visit one of our five in-house restaurants, or one of the two bars and lounges that we have."

_Bar please…_

"We will send for you when your rooms are ready. You can store your bags with us in a secure holding facility."

"Sure," Brennan motioned over the two waiting interns. They all handed the small amount that they did pack to the bell man at the ready. "Are you two up for a drink?"

"Yeah," they said in unison, following her lead.

Brennan was just in the mood for a drink. At the site, they had access to various liquors, but she yearned for a shot of single malt Scotch whisky; like Booth and she would drink out of Dixie cups after a particularly hard case. Other than the intoxication and ignorance fueled bliss that came afterword, the burn of the amber liquid seeping down her throat. She wasn't a big drinker, but she did so in social situations; Booth always said that she could hold her liquor.

She slid into a stool at the bar, Daisy and Merrill scooting in on either side of her.

"Shot of single malt Scotch whisky," Brennan hailed the bartender.

"I'll have what she's having," Daisy nodded her head a bit too enthusiastically.

"That's way too much drink for you," Merrill leaned over the bar.

"I drink…often," the young anthropologist justified.

"Hey now," Brennan chuckled, her mouth pulling into a lop-sided smile. "Let's just enjoy our night in the city."

_Just 164 (divisible by 1, 2, 4, 41, 82, and 164) days of bickering interns…_

**B&B**

Booth jogged over to the recreation building, pushing through the heavy doors and into the poorly air conditioned recreation building. His destination: the mail window. He had visited the window once, often twice a day. It was ridiculous that after over a month (more like two), the package from Bones hadn't arrived yet. The clerk knew his first name; for a guy that only goes by rank or by last name, this was a massive milestone.

The perpetually bored clerk looked up from his crumbled and well used Playboy. "Let me guess Sergeant Major, you want me to check if you got any mail."

"You guessed it buddy, now get up off your ass and do some checking," Booth joked with the kid.

"Okay okay man, don't shoot me or anything," the kid got to his feet, walking back into the dusty stacks. "You haven't gotten anything for a week or two, what makes you think that you're gonna get anything more?"

"Not funny," he drummed his fingers impatiently on the counter.

"Oop," the kid grunted.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing," Booth leaned up as far as he could against the barred window. Why would it need to be barred anyway?

The clerk pulled a large box from the very top shelf. It dropped heavily into his arms; he crab stepped awkwardly back to the counter. "Sign for it," the kid picked up the usual form with his mouth, depositing the scrap on to the counter.

Booth quickly scribbled his name of the scrap of paper; it was merely for documentation. Not like these things didn't get lost after a day or two in the crap filing system that they were bound to have.

The kid dropped the package through the one-way slot at the bottom. "Have fun," he managed a smile, before going back to his racy magazine.

"Thanks bub," Booth grabbed the package.

Like every time he received a package or letter, he went straight for the barracks. Some of the guys opened their packages in public. Like vultures on a dead body, guys would swarm around, looking at whatever they would see. The boys would hoop and holler at pictures of girlfriends and casually mock everything that came out of the musty cardboard box. In his opinion, it was just jealously; not all these guys had people back in the states waiting for them to come home.

Opening the door with his behind, Booth backed into the barrack, dropping the package to his bed. The thing looked like it had been hastily opened and taped multiple times; that what you got when you send a package on to a US Army base that dealt with bomb threats, car bombs, and suicide bombers every day.

Pulling out his knife, he split the masking tape, bearing its contents to the dry desert air. Inside was a nearly full box of carefully folded contents. It was so like Bones to do that; make sure that every single corner of the box was properly utilized. On top was a tri-folded piece of crisp white paper. Reaching down, he pulled out the hand written note.

_"Booth,_

_While I am unsure on when this package will reach you, but I hope that it makes it to you before the cold of the mountains of Afghanistan sets in; I understand that the standard-issue socks are lacking. Either that or you are extremely overindulged as far as sock quality goes. Enclosed are exactly five pairs of winter socks, a hand-written not from Angela, Hodgins, and Daisy, a few photos, and a special gift (an extra note is enclosed in that). _

_While we communicate fairly often via phone and email, this note isn't exactly an excellent method of communication. Especially considering that this may be a week or two old when you receive it, the most up to date news you can obtain from me is from email. Stay safe._

_Bones_

_P.S. _

_Knowing the security protocols of the Army, I hope that the contents of this box are not compromised in any way, shape or form."_

Carefully folding the note up, he deposited in his breast pocket where he kept all his personal photos. Indeed, the box had five pairs of socks; all of the wool variety. Very warm, they would be. They weren't as flashy as he preferred, but Bones probably was just thinking of his military job and the dress code. He decided to save the notes for later; the one from Angela and Hodgins was bound to be interesting, but Daisy…if she wrote as much as she talked it would be…interesting and dozens of pages long.

Next, he went for the photos. The first was of a set of remains, he could only assume that this was the "Adi" that she was always talking about. The second was Bones, standing on the beach, a hand on her hip as she smirked at the camera. She looked…beautiful. Her hair was tied back, exposing her features. Her hair was much longer even when tied back in a pony tail; it looked like she hadn't cut it since leaving for Maluku. She was tanner also, but that was to be expected when one considers that she was working outside all the time.

The remainder of the photos were more of Bones in front of various beautiful landmarks. A few were of sunsets or various members of her team. She labeled each photo with the names of the people in it or what was going on in the photo with her familiar scrawl.

The last item in the box was individually wrapped in a sort of tissue paper. On the outside was a sort of sticky-note, fastened precariously with tape. He picked up the package first, carefully unwrapping the crinkling paper. Inside the paper was a sort of hand-carved pendant with a man on horseback slaying a dragon. Was it? No…it couldn't be. He grabbed for the note.

_"By you reading this, I can assume that you read my other note. I hope you haven't opened the packaging yet. While most of Indonesia is either Traditionalist or Modernist Muslims, some of the islands are of the Catholic faith. Apparently, Saint George is one of the most venerated Saints of your faith, but also the patron Saint of soldiers. I find this fitting, and while I don't believe in it, I hope that your faith and this pendant help to protect you in some manner. I also talked to a priest there and had it blessed for you. It was a very interesting ritual to observe actually. _

_Stay safe"_

He pulled the small pendant over his head; it lay right next to his St. Christopher medal. It was just such a…thoughtful gift. Bones wasn't even really comfortable with religion; she obviously went to great lengths just to get this for him, not to mention the trouble of getting it blessed.

Carefully, he placed the letters and socks back into the box so that he could enjoy it later. He was due to run a training session in twenty minutes.

Booth jogged outside to the training area; he always insisted that the guys be there fifteen minutes early. To be early was to be on time, to be on time was to be late, and to be late, was to be in big big trouble.

"Boss," Herring mock saluted the Master Sergeant. "Your guys are here early. You want me to start 'em early?"

"Sure," he nodded. "Tell 'em that they can get out early if we start early."

"Alright guys, bring it in!" Herring yelled.

The group of Rangers formed a semi-circle around the two veteran Rangers.

"Today," Booth began, "we're working on terrorist apprehension. Biggest thing, we need these buggers in alive, right!"

"Right Sergeant!" the group responded in chorus.

"The last thing we want is some terrorist with vital information coming in like Swiss cheese. But don't worry; by the end of today you will know how to deal with these guys!"

_Just 164 more days of anti-terrorist training…_

**B&B**

_**Kinda just furthering our favorite pair's year. **_

_**Oh by the way, anyone here watch Eureka? I only ask because someone said that I was like Allison Blake and I have no idea who that is. Is that a good thing? Should I be insulted insulted?**_

_**But anyway, drop me a review! They really do make me write faster. ;)**_

_**Twitter - Objectivemiss **_


	12. Chapter 12

_**Apparently, some of you are nearly dying with anticipation with this story. Unfortunately, my sadistic, Dexter-like side may make you wait a bit longer. But hey, you won't know until you read. *Evil cackle* Muahahaha.**_

_**Thanks for all the support as always. I love you guys! You really keep me going!**_

_**Twitter - Objectivemiss**_

_**WARNING: There is a naughty/bad word in this chap; I think it fits in with the T rating. But, if anyone takes great offense, let me know and I'll change the wording. **_

**B&B**

_Day 233_

**B&B**

_"Temperance," Dr. Ian Mikel, the dig's unofficial father figure had cornered Brennan at the feeding area. "You need to take a day off."_

_"I-I will, but only when we receive the virtual endocast of the skull and the CT scan so we can confirm that the brainpan is not that of a pygmy or a defect. Before even thinking of declaring Adi a new species, we have to clear the same questions that Homo floresiensis came under. This will only save us trouble later."_

_"Those won't be back in for weeks. You're taking today off and that's final," Mikel smiled warmly._

_"I thought I was the director of this operation, and we only have a few months left here at the site. It would be best if we finished the vast majority of work while we are here and able to work with our collective knowledge."_

_"Not until you get back from your vacation. Now pack a bag for hiking, Keith is waiting for you outside. Might want to throw some snacks in your bag too…oh, and a camera. You'll want that."_

That was how the day before had gone. Now she was at the base of Gunung Api; the active volcano of the Banda Islands. The view was breathtaking really. The green foliage of dense Bandanese jungle ended abruptly to the blue green sea of the tropical ocean. All that beauty, simply placed in front for one to enjoy and absorb.

But she wasn't alone; no, as Mikel had said, Keith had come along. After a fully morning of hiking, the two sat down on a bluff to enjoy the weather.

Suddenly hungry, Brennan pulled a Cliff Bar out from her bag as she dropped gracefully to the rocky outcrop. She looked down at the rock she sat on; it was obviously volcanic. She had no illusions about her knowledge of geology (she preferred to leave it to the experts; also known as Hodgins), but she was sure it was ignimbrite. It was fine grained; she could see the vesicular texture that allowed it to float in water.

"What 'cha lookin' out Dr. B?" Merrill asked with his mouth full of some sort of cereal bar. She saw a few flakes of oatmeal fly from his stuffed face.

"The rocks."

"Meh, I'm more of a human person," he laughed. She heard him sigh, leaning back against the hill.

Booth always seemed like the outdoor type. Well, apart from being a Ranger, he often talked about taking Parker to do various outdoor activities. Apparently, he had taken the young man skiing at a place called "Liberty." She had skied once, but it wasn't for pure sport. It was to explore how the Nordic people and the Sami had skied. So technically, her experience wasn't of the modern variety. The earliest primitive carvings depicting skiing date from 5000 B.C.

"You know what?" Merrill's mouth was still stuffed with food of some sort. The kid was an eating machine. The group took turns helping to prepare meals; during her turn, she remembered how he stuffed down serving after serving.

"What?" Brennan indulged him in his rhetorical question.

"It's nice just to get some silence you know?"

"I understand quite well," she smiled.

"Hey," he looked up. "Would you mind if I vent a bit?"

"Why? Are you feeling unusually warm? Or is that some sort of joke in that we may be sitting very near a volcanic vent?"

"Nah, but that would have been funny. I mean, you know, blow off some steam. Some stress. Some anger. That sort of thing. I just need an ear."

"I am able to listen."

Merrill looked down again, tossing a rock. "Does…Daisy ever get on your nerves?"

Daisy. Angela assumed that with their close quarter contact that she and Daisy would grow closer. Angela seemed almost worried that the young and peppy anthropologist would take her place as "best girlfriend." Apparently, Booth was her best friend, not Angela. She really never did get why people felt the need to rank friends in a hierarchy. It was like some sort of power structure.

"Occasionally," Brennan tried to look nonchalant at his question. Ms. Wick did have the ability to irritate her; but that didn't stop her from being a fine anthropologist. She had potential.

"I-I was just…curious," he looked down sharply.

They sat in silence for a while, just content to listen to the wind whistling through the trees. It was a tropical breeze; warm and benign in nature. It was like the smell of fresh apple pie, wafting from the oven. Or, that's how she imagined that Booth must smell it.

"Come work for me," she said suddenly.

"W-what?" he looked fazed.

"I mean as an intern," Brennan further clarified. "You are a very promising anthropologist. You would be able to work at the Jeffersonian, a state of the art facility, and work with me. Washington D.C. is a wonderful metropolis. The work would be challenging and enjoyable. I think it would give you room to grow and write your doctoral thesis."

"Dr. B…that's a lot to take in…" Merrill sat up.

"I don't expect a response right now, but sooner is better than later when you consider the living arrangements you would have to make as well as the calls I would have to make to be sure that we can ensure that the intern position would be there for you."

He smiled. It wasn't a full grin; but rather, a sadder expression. He was considering her offer, and deeply at that. Very deeply. "I'm studying for my doctorate in _biological _anthropology_, _not _forensic _anthropology. You're offer is…amazing. I-I don't know anyone could turn it down. B-But I just don't know how well it fits with what I want to do."

"I see…" Brennan turned her eyes back to the beautiful skyline.

"Hey now! Don't be like that. It's just…forensic anthropology is narrow in scope…biological looks at us all."

It was understandable that he didn't want to work at the Jeffersonian. His logic was sound and very convincing. But she didn't give up so easily. Keith Merrill could be an excellent addition to her team. He was intelligent and smart; contrary to popular belief, the two are very different. He also cared greatly for his work; like her, he felt frisson at the prospect of a thrilling find.

"Why not just come for a few months?" she proposed.

It was a logical middle road to request. "Your knowledge of the human skeletal structure would undoubtedly increase dramatically because you will be dealing with them every day. Not to mention that your familiarity of H. Saipan will increase and help you identify the changes in ancient remains you will surely encounter."

Merrill smiled again; this time, it was genuine. Well, as far as she could tell. Booth said that interpreting facial expressions in order to deduce emotions wasn't her forte; this, she accepted as truth.

"Okay…" he grinned. "But only for a month or two. Heck, I don't even know where I'm going to live with my condo in LA…"

"If you have trouble finding somewhere, you could stay with me," it was extremely difficult for Brennan to offer this. She liked a quiet apartment to think and write with the upmost effectiveness. Perhaps she was opening up; perhaps her metaphorical heart was open.

"That would be great."

She pulled her bag on her lap, looking for a pocket to stash the Cliff Bar wrapper. Littering wasn't exactly helpful for the environment, especially one as pristine as the Banda Islands. Her hand brushed over the camera that Mikel had insisted she bring. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea.

"Keith," she whipped the small "point and shoot" digital camera from her bag. "Would you mind taking a picture of me?"

"Of course not," he took the camera from her hands, taking a few steps down the hill. "Do you want the volcano in the background?"

"That would be excellent," she said, smiling.

"Say cheese!"

Brennan never did get the expression, but she smiled larger anyway.

Merrill handed the camera back. "So...if I were to stay with you until I could find an apartment…don't you have someone living with you…?"

"Like whom?" she was genuinely confused.

"You know…that Booth guy."

She smiled despite herself; people always seemed to mistake them for romantic partners. "I believe I've said before that we are not romantically involved."

"I know you've said it before, but I just want to make sure I get a consistent answer," he winked, pushing his glasses farther up his nose.

"Well there is a difference between precision and accuracy," Brennan looked up.

"We can start hiking again and you can explain on the way," Merrill offered a hand to help her up.

It wasn't the sort of offer she usually accepted; but she was willing to make an exception for this. After all, they had another long day of hiking around the volcano. There was no reason not to save her strength. She reached up and grabbed his hand, allowing him to pull her to a standing position.

_Just 132 more days of the beautiful landscape…_

**B&B**

"This isn't the kind of thing you laugh at," Booth yelled in Private Tyson Huffman's face.

"Y-Yes Sergeant," the kid stammered.

The Sergeant Major took a step back from the reeling Private. "This here is not what you want to do during a serious anti-terrorist training exercise! That is not the time to make 'Jihad Jeep' jokes…or to take it as an opportunity to yell 'Allah Akbar' when you apprehend a terrorist. How fucking long will it take you to realize that this isn't a joke?"

"N-Not any longer Sergeant," Private Huffman said unconfidently.

"That wasn't the kind of question that you answer."

"S-Sorry…"

This wasn't some videogame; how hard was that to get? Yeah so the Army and plenty of Rangers coming in with plenty of potential, but they were immature and short-sighted. Where did the Army get these guys anyway? Could he have really been like this when he joined? Were he and his buddies really that rowdy? Heck, who was he kidding; he was getting old.

"Earth to Boss," Herring waved a hand in front of his face. "You there?"

"Y-Yeah," he regained his mental footing. "Where else would I be?" he swatted down the Master Sergeant's hand.

"Whoa there, take it easy Boss," he maneuvered so he could look into the eyes of his superior. "Are you dehydrated or somethin'?"

"No, I'm fine."

"No man, I don't think you are."

"I'm fine!" Booth yelled a bit too loudly.

"You aren't," Herring motioned to two medics standing by. "I'm gonna make sure you get checked out. What do you want me do with these guys in the meantime?"

"I'm not going with those medics…" he looked ever his shoulder, seeing the two corpsmen approach.

"Look man, these guys will use force if necessary. You know it from your Ranger days; those medics can be the toughest guys. Besides, you're too damn selfless. You spend too much time worryin' about these guys you don't take care of yourself. Heck, I saw you give that one guy the last of your canteen."

"True…" Booth wracked his brains to think of something suitable for his trainees to do. "Take them to the video room...make them watch that stupid two-hour thing about taking training seriously."

"You got it," Herring set off to the group.

"Would you come with us Sergeant Major," the taller of the two medics asked.

Booth nodded, setting off with the two to the medical pavilion. Too selfless? Okay, so he had neglected himself a bit, but keeping his trainees in good shape was paramount. After all, they were the ones that would be doing the fighting, not him. He was just a geezer veteran, helping these guys to finish what he started. Heck, he never thought he would end up back in the Gulf. He never wanted to after all the crap he had to wade through when he was a Ranger. Not something he would wish on anyone…at least, not anyone unless they were really bad to the bone…or Bones for that matter.

"We'll drop you off at the check in desk," the shorter medic said. "They'll take care of you from there. Okay?"

He stumbled a bit through the double doors; maybe he was dehydrated. The medics were instantly at his sides, swinging his arms over a shoulder each to support his limping walk into the air conditioned facility.

"Hey is this guy okay?" a woman in scrubs asked.

"Dehydration," the medics handed Booth's care over to the staff.

"No problem, we'll take it from here," the nurse had a wheel chair brought up.

"No. No wheel chair," he tried to wave the nurse off.

"Sergeant Major, I'm Nurse Sherri Langley. I know all you guys think you're real tough and I'm sure you are, but you need to sit down so we can get you back out there. Okay sweetie?" she practically forced him into the rolling chair.

The only other person that called him "sweetie" was Angela. Wow, how long had it been since he thought about her. Well…he did talk to her while she was visiting Bones, but she was Bones' friend; not his.

"Whatcha got here?" Booth felt a doctor lean over his shoulder as they wheeled him through the sterile halls. Low and behold, it was Dr. Major Marcus Moore.

_His initials were M&M…like the candy!_

"It's my buddy Boothie!" he laughed. "I'll take him from here Sherri."

"You sure?"

"Positive. I've gotten no word on any trauma coming in. I've got too much time."

"Wait, so this is the grunt you've been chillin' with?" Nurse Langley said amusedly.

"The one and only hun," he winked, wheeling Booth off to a bed. "Get out of the chair and move to the bed."

"So much for bedside manner…" Booth grumbled, moving heavily.

"Dehydration eh? I've got just the thing," the Major pulled out a water bottle. "Drink."

"That's it?" he took the water bottle, screwing the cap off with ease.

"Well I'm gonna take your vitals…if your blood pressure is fine and you don't have a fever or anything like that, that's it. I could do the rehydrating intravenously though…"

"No way doc," he chugged the water.

"Have you been sweating at all?"

"Yeah, I'm drenched."

"Thristy?"

"Honestly, not too much," Booth crushed the bottle, tossing it to the trash can. It bounced off the rim, landing on the floor.

Moore laughed, "You never seemed like the three-pointer sort of guy." He placed another water bottle on the table. "Drink," he ordered again.

"Yes sir."

"Hey, how far do you live from Baltimore?" Moore suddenly asked, scribbling a few things down on a chart.

"Like an hour," Booth said between gulps. "Why?"

"Because, even though I'm interviewing, I need a place to live. Do you know of a decent hotels or people that rent out apartments? Baltimore is a bit rough for my taste."

He crushed the second bottle; this time, it landed smack into the can. "Booya," he grinned. "Man, you can just live at my place for a bit."

"But I'll be home before you…"

"I keep a spare key around."

"Let me guess, under a false rock."

Was he really that predictable? Okay, so Bones had seen through his fake rock, but a guy that had never even been to his home? He knew that he had to up his creativity in hiding places, and fast. But he did give that key to Cam in case anything happened during his deployment; Moore could always get Cam to set him up.

"No way, that would be stupid. But seriously," he looked into the surgeon's eyes, "I would be insulted if you didn't crash at my place."

"Well that's the last thing I want to do," the doctor slammed another water bottle on the table. "Drink," he ordered for the third time.

"Seriously?"

"Yes 'seriously' Sergeant Major," Moore mocked, leaning nonchalantly against the end of his bed. "For your weight, the high altitude, the hot and dry climate…you should drink 116 ounces of water a day, or 3.5 liters if you prefer. Of course, if you're pregnant that would affect how much you would need to drink-"

"Not pregnant…that ain't even possible."

"Good to know you know your basic anatomy. Not bad…for a grunt," the surgeon joked.

"I'm not that dumb."

"Hey doc," a fully scrubbed nurse walked over to his bed. "Another medical truck is on its way from Kandahar providence. According to the preliminary reports, we've got a Humvee blown to smithereens by a roadside bomb. The medics say that we might need to amputate. They'll be here in 30 minutes, we need you prepped and ready to go."

"Alrighty," Moore said. "I'll be there in a minute." He turned back to Booth. "You," he pointed. "Drink more water; I love to see you, but not in here." He walked away, grabbing another nurse by the arm. "Make sure that he drinks another liter of water. And keep him overnight. Don't let him talk you out of it."

The nurse nodded, walking over to Booth. "You heard the boss, drink all of the water and you're here overnight." She pulled out a hospital gown and dropped it on his lap. "I'll draw the curtains so you can change."

"But I don't want to-"

"Hey, I've got some other guys to take care of. Just change. It's late anyway, just try to fall asleep, okay tough guy?"

"Wait-" Booth called after her. "Do you think you could get me a few puddings?"

"That I can do," she smiled.

_Just 132 more days of forced hospital stays…_

**B&B**

_**Sorry this took so long! I've been really busy, but I will have a ton of time to write next week. The more reviews, the faster I write… ;) . You know you want to.**_

_**Twitter - Objectivemiss**_


	13. Chapter 13

_**I'm back! Just a word of warning though: I'll be gone from July 3rd to the 8th for some much needed R&R. And I don't mean "read and review." ;) But don't worry! I might end up writing on the beach (perhaps something romantic?) and maybe a few more chaps of my current stories. And, I have a very special one-shot for the 4th of July everyone should keep their eyes out for.**_

_**Happy Birthday to me! (July 1st)**_

_**Twitter - Objectivemiss**_

**B&B**

_Day 265_

**B&B**

Brennan awoke with a start, jolting upright from her sleeping bag. She felt as if her heart was beating out of her chest; that wouldn't be possible though considering the placement of the sternum and skin. Never less, she could understand the illusion; her pulse (which she always took on her carotid) was extremely fast. She lifted her hair into a bun, attempting to allow the fresh air to cool her burning skin down. According to her watch, it was about five AM. The group always tried to start early; the Maluku afternoon was extremely unbearable and difficult to work in.

She glanced over across her hut; Daisy's sleeping bag was a messy puddle on the ground. At least the talkative anthropologist wouldn't be here to try to counsel her…again. The last time she woke up from an equally disruptive dream, the young woman had tried the psychology nonsense that she had picked up from her time with Sweets to try to dissect her dream. Booth was right; psychologists loved dreams. Dreams were just a succession of thoughts, images, sounds or emotions; it was the subconscious' playground.

But her dream wasn't of the nightmare nature. No, she had plenty of those over the last 265 days that she spent in Indonesia. They ranged from death by gunshot wounds, blunt force trauma, improvised explosive devices, to many other weapons that were common to the conflict in the Middle East. She had even dreamed of him never returning to meet her at the coffee cart near the Lincoln Memorial; sometimes she dreamed that he returned hand in hand with a faceless female companion.

Tonight's dream was one more of the…pleasant nature. In layman's terms, it was a sex dream. For some time she had tangled with her physical attraction to Booth. Noticing his desirable structure was as natural as breathing. After all, as an anthropologist, she knew better than anyone, that this was simply a response to encourage mating in order to pass on her well endowed genes to further the species.

It was the emotional attachment, however, that she had great difficulty with. The more and more she experienced, the more she became resigned to the fact that love seemed to be a component of the human condition. Brennan had already come to terms with the fact that she had both a physical and emotional attraction to Booth. The question was: what should she do about it.

This was one of those times that she wished that Angela was around; she had much more experience and sensitivity with relationship issues than she did. Daisy did mention that she was able to act as a sounding board for any thoughts she might have. But did she really want to approach Daisy about such…personal and private issues? The woman had already been engaged in her short life…more relative progress than she had achieved in her longer life.

Brennan threw on her usual fare. She meticulously laced up her well-worn hiking boots; the last thing she wanted was for them to be re-tied on multiple occasions, that would only was her valuable times. Daisy was bound to be around here somewhere…

"Keith!" she called to young, biological anthropologist sitting under the dining canopy with pastry smothered all over his lips. "You have something there," Brennan motioned to the mess on his face.

"What?" she quirked an eyebrow.

She made a wiping motion.

"Oh!" he hastily wiped the food off his upper lip. "What can I do you for Dr. B?"

"Have you seen Daisy?"

"Yeah," he looked around. "She was off running errands for Dr. Mikel. I think he had her ferrying test results from the communications hut to him. You might want to check over there."

_Then in ignorance, I await my own surprise..._

"Daisy?" Brennan peered through the hut's door. Sure enough, the woman looked absolutely exhausted. She was prone on the hut's couch. "Did you not get the doctor required eight hours of sleep last night?"

"I did, but I'm just soooo tired."

_Do it Brennan!_

"D-Do you think we could…talk?"

Daisy sat up immediately; her attention solely on her mentor. "Did I do something wrong? Because if I did, I will do _anything_ I can to fix it. I'm really really sorry if I did, you know, I just look up to you so much and I would hate to disappoint you-"

"-Daisy…"

"-And then so it really wasn't my fault that happened and I'm really sorry."

"W-What wasn't your fault?"

She looked absolutely crestfallen; she had revealed something that she hadn't even intended to. Such things were the consequences for a steam-powered mouth. Or was it a "motor" mouth? Brennan really couldn't be sure and asking Daisy seemed like an unwise thing if she wanted to keep her attention on what she desired to talk about.

"I-It's not important. But what did you want to talk about Dr. B?"

Brennan leaned a bit closer. "First, may I say that anything said here remains confidential and should not and will not be mentioned outside this hut or at any other time. Is that clear?"

"O-Of course. Is this…" she lowered her voice, "a secret?"

"…It could be considered that."

"Oh I love secrets! And don't worry," Daisy assured, "I am an excellent secret keeper." She pretended to zip her lips shut.

Booth called the ability to carry out something tough "guts." Typically, it would be "to have guts." As she had pointed out before though, every living person had entrails; they were needed to function. Personally, she preferred "audacity" to describe how she had to act. Speaking of her feelings was an extremely difficult and uncomfortable task.

_It's now or never Tempe…_

"Let's say I were to feel a strong emotional attachment to a person…how would you suggest I act?

"Well, you're the one who always stresses being specific so that's something I've adopted into my own philosophy. So I think I'm going to need more than that. You know, like what kind of 'attachment' is this?" Daisy looked a bit too eager to dissect her idol's emotional problems.

"I believe that this is a developing romantic relationship."

"Does Agent Booth know about this? Because it seems like something he would want to check out. As my sorority used to say, 'never hear a secret that could hurt two of your friends.' Or…I guess…co-workers too."

She couldn't do this. Not with Daisy. Not with anyone. This was a completely private manner.

"Forget about it," she headed out from the hut.

"Did I say something wrong?" the young anthropologist called after her. Luckily, she didn't pursue; out running Daisy would be doable, but if she had as much energy as she talked with, tiring.

Just because she didn't feel comfortable thinking about her feelings. Earlier in her trip, she told Angela over the phone that she thought she loved Booth. But the more and more time she spent mulling over that exact concept, the more she came to believe it. Love, by definition, was any of a number of emotions related to a sense of strong affection and attachment. She certainly felt attached to Booth; time without him felt empty and without purpose. Affection was something that she felt also; all those "guy hugs" and close contact surely fulfilled the criteria for affection.

The Greeks divided love into five main categories. "Agape" is ideal and pure love; love of the physical sense. Booth was_ very _pleasing to look at, but that wasn't the only way that she felt attracted to him. "Eros" is passionate love; some translate it as "love of the body." The love (if that was indeed what she felt) that she felt was certainly passionate and sensual as Eros describes. "Philia" motivated by practical reasons; one or both of the parties benefit from the relationship. It was most like a platonic relationship; a manner in which she had described their partnership many times. The remaining two forms were "Storge," natural affection for offspring, and "Xenia," the Greek hospitality.

Their relationship was caught in a middle ground. Should they escalate it to romantic? Or keep it where it is? Quite frankly, Brennan wasn't sure what would be the best for them.

_Booth said that love isn't rational. Thus, is it rational to think of it in a rational way?_

For just a moment, she let herself think of what she _wanted_; not what would be best. She _wanted_ a closer relationship with Booth. She _wanted_ to love him

But she wasn't sure that she could. That bloody insecurity to love of hers kept surfacing. She felt like a young child on the edge of a very cold pool. Once one jumped in, it wasn't so bad. But getting one's head underwater for the first time could be difficult.

"That's it," she said to herself, reemerging from the recesses of her mind. Her mindlessly walking body had brought her to the water's edge. "When I get back, I will talk to Booth about this. I won't become nervous and lose the courage needed to speak my mind. I will tell him how I feel…I promise."

Although she had said it to only herself, speaking it out loud was almost like signing a contract. And even then, Brennan wasn't one to back down on her promises.

_Just 100 more days not to change my mind…_

**B&B**

"Hey Boss, I got a question for ya," Herring said.

The two guys were in the communal bathroom for the barracks. Luckily, the facility was large enough for each guy in the unit to have his own sink; it was sort of like their personal space. Because in the Army, you might as well forget the words "personal bubble" until your enlistment is up.

"What Herring," Booth managed as he shaved, scraping the last stripes of cream off his jaw.

"Why don't you put up a picture of your girl like the rest of the guys?"

It was almost a unit requirement; a picture of your girl on "your" bathroom mirror. Of course, there were the obligatory Megan Fox pictures that many of the men had up, but most actually had a picture of a girl waiting for them back home.

"I don't want to be hassled about the picture…that's all."

"I've seen your girl, she's hot hot hot!" Herring nudged Booth.

"She's not my girl," he growled, washing the last of the rich lather off his face.

"Then why do you carry around a picture of her in your pocket at all times?"

"None of your business," he snapped.

"But in case you're worried," Herring leaned over to him. "I don't think the guys would make fun of her bein' ugly or nothin'." He whistled approvingly to further accent his point.

"That's the exact kind of response I wanted to avoid."

"Your deal bro, but you're kinda bein' overprotective you know? Now I don't know about you, but I'm starved. I'm headin' to the mess," the Master Sergeant patted him on the shoulder, taking his towel with him as he went.

Was he overprotective? Bones accused him of it all the time. "You don't need to walk me to my car Booth"; yeah, well the Gravedigger got you in that parking garage. "Booth, you don't need to walk around my apartment to make sure it's safe"; yeah, well Howard Epps got into there and was ready to kill you in the shower. But could he really be overprotective of a picture? It was just a snapshot of her; Bones was such a dynamic person. But never the less, he refused to take part in his unit's ritual; it just seemed needless. Wow, now he was beginning to sound like her too.

Booth tidied up his area and slung his wet towel over his shoulders. He stepped out from the barracks to the morning sun of Afghanistan. The morning was like wolf in sheep's clothing; it didn't reveal the scorching heat it would deal out in a few short hours. It was like it wanted to lull him and his men into a false sense of security. Plenty of soldiers had said it: it seemed like the terrain itself was working against them.

He started up a brisk pace to the mess hall, not wanting to dally and miss any of the good stuff. He pondered about Bones as he went. Recently, he had debated on whether or not he should wait for her. After his profession of love, he said that he would move on. But despite his dating, he really wasn't moving on; he was staying right where he was. She ran from him for Christ sake! Not only ran away, but halfway across the freaking world. Could he really make her feel that scared and insecure? He certainly hoped not; the last thing he wanted to do was cause her pain and discomfort.

But what if she really never became ready for him? Was he just going to sit and watch his entire life pass him by? Yes, Bones was important to him. Extremely important. But what about his dreams of getting married? His dreams of having children? His dreams of having grandchildren? These were all things that he desired to obtain, but they were items that he considered well worth benching for a chance to openly love Bones. But could she really love him back? Well, she was one of the most caring people he had ever met in his life, but she enjoyed building walls. She was like a little girl on the beach, hopelessly reinforcing the walls of sand castle as they were being pounded with waves. Losing the walls was inevitable.

Booth hated feeling so pessimistic; it was probably just job pressure. Well, then you're in the middle of a dangerous warzone teaching men to catch bad guys, stress happens, and pretty easily at that. Suddenly, he lost his appetite.

"Hey Booth!" a few guys near Herring wave him over.

Lately, all of the veteran Rangers turned trainers had begun to sit together at any opportunity. It was nice to be with guys that knew exactly what you went through. That was the hardest thing about adjust from Army life to civilian life; people not understanding. But Bones almost _always _understood. Even if her words were pepped with "I don't know what that means," he could see the empathy in her eyes. He was sure that was why some said that the eyes were gateways to the soul. But Bones didn't believe in the soul, surely she didn't.

"No food?" Herring asked, swirling the mystery meat around with a fork.

"Not hungry."

"Not even for stolen hospital pudding?" Major Moore approached from behind.

"Not even," but Booth couldn't help but crack a smile.

"Well this man's in a funk," the surgeon dropped to the bench next to him. In all the time he knew Moore, he learned that it was useless to try to explain officer to enlisted protocol. Either he was deaf and dumb, or he just really didn't care. He was pretty sure it was the latter. "Why the long face?"

"Just…stress," he said. It was mostly true. He was stressed…about Bones. It wasn't a crime to let him assume it was solely work pressure.

"Well I get that. This one time, I was working on this guy with an abdominal aortic burst-"

"Gross man," Herring looked over in disgust. "How many times have I told you not to tell that kind of crap while I'm eating?"

"You're the one that talks about blowing the heads of terrorists and watching the blood spurt out," Moore quirked an eyebrow.

"Okay I get your point," the Master Sergeant said quickly.

But seriously, Booth knew he might have to move on…and for real this time. He just couldn't wait for her forever; his time on earth had a time limit, just like hers. And while she aspired to make game changing anthropological discoveries in her life, he just wanted to spend his with a woman that he loved. Was that really too much to ask? But he loved Bones, he knew that well…in his bones. The last thing he wanted to do was give up on her too soon.

If she really wanted to enter a loving relationship with him, she would have to make the first move this time. He had already barred his heart to her, only to have it crushed. She would have to be the one to take the risk this time, and he hoped to God that she would do it. You couldn't force Bones to do anything; ; she had to consciously choose to do it on her own.

"Are you sure you don't want the pudding?" the Major slid the plastic container over. "I had to smuggle it over here and everything. The least you could do is…well…reward my efforts."

"Fine," Booth almost reluctantly opened the lid, pulling out the folded plastic spoon. Ever since he was in the hospital for dehydration, Moore knew that pudding was a wonderful way to persuade him.

"Now that you're eating...do you want to tell me why you aren't having your group sent over for the preventive medicine stuff."

"I just don't think it's needed."

"Come on, it doesn't hurt. Hey, I know why you don't want to do it."

"Why?"

"You don't want to deal with the beautiful Captain Foley."

"That's not true. And you were definitely not a psych major."

"Nah, but they made us take it. Just bring your boys over to the complex; it will take no time at all."

"I've got to get going," he said goodbyes to everyone at the table.

Then he knew: if Bones wanted him, she would have to make the first move.

_Just 100 days left to go…_

**B&B**

_**How's that for emotional development? Leave me a review! I love them. And thank you (even you silent readers ;D ) for your support. It's always nice to know that you're wanted…or at least, the chapters are wanted.**_

_**Twitter - Objectivemiss **_


	14. Chapter 14

_**Some of you have expressed concern on whether or not I plan on continuing this story past day 100. Yes, I plan to pushing this story until we get a...desirable outcome, whatever that may be. ;) **_

_**Holy TIE fighters Batman! We reached 200 reviews! Thank you everyone who took the time to review, and I hope that if you are a past reviewer or not, you'll take a sec and tell me what you think.**_

_**Twitter – Objectivemiss**_

**B&B**

_Day 294_

**B&B**

"You're just lucky that you're okay," Keith said, the rest of the anthropologists gathering around the dining area.

"I'm fine...really. I wouldn't say so otherwise," Brennan insisted, holding an instant cold back to her head.

With fewer than seventy-five days remaining in their stay on Maluku's Banda Islands, work was actually waning. The majority of the forensic work was excitedly completed in the first half-year, leaving individual papers and anthropology journal work to be done. She decided to take the time to use her little used scuba diving license (her writing and work at the Jeffersonain kept her so incredibly busy in Washington D.C.). Unfortunately, boaters in Indonesia were far less cautious than they should be. In her (supposedly) relaxing outing, she surfaced to scan where she desired to dive when she suffered a minor collision with a small boat. Luckily, the encounter left her only with flesh wounds.

"Dr. B," Daisy put a hand on hip, standing not too far away. "You would say you were fine if it meant avoiding a confrontation."

"Just be glad that she always swims with a buddy," Keith added.

"Temperance, Dr. Gresh is on her way over. She has an MD and I'd like her to check you out," Mikel smoothed his hand over Brennan's. "Please, would you kindly?"

"Fine," the forensic anthropologist sighed. "Don't you have work to do?" she turned angrily to the gathered crowd.

The body of assembled anthropologists slumped off, satisfied that their leader was in good enough shape if she had the ability to shoo them off.

Brennan just didn't like the attention; it felt too suffocating. She already knew that she probably had a concussion, and the laceration to her upper right arm would probably need several stitches. Yes, she wasn't a medical doctor per say, but she did have extensive knowledge of human anatomy. She was able to fix Booth's back a few times. Booth. He would become needlessly worried if he heard about her encounter. It took her quite a while to accurately discern why he was so protective of her. She could recall a conversation she had with Perotta on the topic when Booth was out with his back injury...

"_I don't need a sitter. Booth gets needlessly protective sometimes. I have no idea why."_

"_You really don't, do you?"_

"_No."_

How could she have been so blind? Well, it had taken Booth's open confession of love for her to realize his own feels. And then months for her to begin to become cognizant of her own feelings.

"Are you okay Temperance?" Dr. Debra Gresh had finally arrived. Although she was an accomplished anthropologist, being the group's only medical doctor took precedence over anthropological research. She was extremely generous, spending some time with the locals of the Banda Islands and surrounding islands to offer medical help.

"I'm fine, but the laceration to my arm will most likely need to be cleaned and steri-striped."

"Well let's see how good of a doctor you are," Gresh winked, delicately peeling away the hastily wrapped gauze covering. "Yeah, you are going to need to be stitched up, it's too deep for the steri-strips," she applied the gauze back, applying pressure to slow the bleeding. "Daisy, can you go get my bag, I dropped it near one of the tables along the edge of the dining are."

"Sure Dr. G," Daisy scampered off.

Daisy arrived quickly back, handing the well-worn bag to the doctor. Gresh pulled a few things from her bag, cleaning Brennan's wound with antiseptic.

Brennan winced in the pain. She had been blown up in a taxi cab, buried alive, and shot; she was undoubtedly tough. But that doesn't mean that she didn't feel the pain. She almost wished that Booth was there to comfort her. Whenever she was injured, he would sit by her bedside and tend to her, even when she protested his care was not needed. Despite her objections, she couldn't deny that she enjoyed the attention; was that what it felt like to be loved?

"Keith, you want to hold Dr. Brennan's hand? I have to do this without any anesthetic," she turned to Brennan, smiling tenderly. "I'm sorry about all this."

"I-It isn't your fault," she withdrew her hand from Keith's grasp. "I'm fine, I have been through worse," she squeezed her eyes shut. "Just begin so you can be finished."

She felt the needle pierce her skin; she tried to retreat into the recesses of her mind to find a more happy place. When she got back to Washington D.C., she would tell Booth how she felt. Everything truly does happen eventually; it was quantum physics. There is a probability of everything, no matter how slim. So thus, everything would happen eventually, even if it took billions and billions of years. Hopefully, the probability of a good relationship with Booth was high enough to occur very soon.

"All done Temperance," Gresh rolled fresh gauze over the now sealed wound. "You will want to take it easy for a few days. Take extra care to make sure that the wound stays clean; the last thing we want is it to become infection. Especially with the limited facilities in the region. If anything severe happens, we'll have to move you off island."

"Thank you."

"Oh, and you were correct; you do have a concussion. You'll need to avoid sleeping. Maybe you can get some work done on your next book. We're all waiting to see what other steamy stuff you have cooked up."

"Hey Dr. B?" Daisy approached quickly. "I could keep you company and keep you awake," she nodded eagerly.

Well, Daisy was...perky; she seemed to know the first thing about staying awake. She remembered how she and Booth had skated for hours when she was keeping him awake after his concussion. This certainly wasn't going to be as fun, but it was necessary for her health.

"Sure."

"Eeek!" the youthful anthropologist screeched, literally jumping with joy. "We're going to have so, much, fun," she accented every, single, word.

"No reason to become over excited-"

But Daisy didn't even hear her. She ran off to a cooler, pulling out a narrow light blue and silver can, bringing the beverage back to Brennan. "Drink this."

"I don't think this is an acceptable time for alcohol..."

"Don't be silly! Wait...you don't know what this is?"

Brennan shook her head in opinion. Over the last year, without Booth to educate her about common colloquialisms and products, her view had narrowed significantly. Perhaps he would have some military jargon to introduce to her already massive vocabulary. Angela always said that variety was the salt of life...or was it the spice of life...

"This is Red Bull."

"I don't know that that means..."

"It's an energy drink. It will help to keep you awake and perky! It gives you wings!" Daisy made a ridiculous flapping motion.

"Do you drink this...Red Bull?"

"Oh all the time! How do you think I manage to be so pleasant in the morning?'

She took the can from her, "sugar free," it proclaimed. Taurine, a inhibitory neurotransmitter seemed to be one of the major ingredients, along with many undoubtedly complex chemical compounds. She was not a chemist; she left that sort of thing to Hodgins. But, if the product was deemed safe enough to sell in the US, it couldn't be _that_ detrimental to her health; the government did allow terribly caloric foods to be sold.

Tentatively, she pulled the stay-tab, hearing the carbon dioxide escape with an audible hiss. "I'm not sure about this, heart palpitations surely wouldn't be good for my present physical condition."

"Then don't mind if I do!" Daisy snatched the can, shotgunning the can in a few seconds.

"I can keep myself awake, but I appreciate your offer," Brennan walked off to the beach, not wanting to be within the radius of Daisy when she became hyperactive. While she didn't advocate medication as a sole solution, but perhaps a diagnosis of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder with the medication along with that would be good for everyone.

The beach had been a personal sanctuary in her almost full year on the island. All one could hear was the gentle crash of the waves on to the sandy shore. Just think; those grains of sand where massive boulders thousands of years earlier. Erosion was absolutely natural and was one of the biggest influence on the landscape of earth. From the Grand Canyon, to the Sahara Desert, to the very beach she stood now on, erosion took its grating toll. In a metaphorical manner, the walls that she had painstakingly created to keep her from others, had eroded from Booths continued efforts.

If she was a religious woman, she would have hoped to her deity that she had not missed her window with Booth. In the last week, her emails had begun to bounce; he hadn't called her her recently. There was no way for her to tell him to wait for her. Sending a letter was old-fashioned and slow to arrive; there would be even less assurance that her handwritten message had reached its intended target.

_Just 71 more days until I see him again..._

**B&B**

"Can you believe this?" Herring turned back from the wall mounted television.

"Barely," Booth looked down in disgust. Predator drone strikes in his region had killed three American soldiers. These were kids, just looking to serve their country. Now, they were killed by friendly fire, but not just any friendly fire; fire from guys sitting in a nice, air conditioned control room back in the states. They got to go home every night to see their wives and children; he and his guys were stuck in a desert hell.

"I mean seriously? These dumb asses are sittin' in Las Vegas, just relaxin' and oh, wagin' warfare from plush leather chairs," the Master Sergeant ranted.

"Don't cause a scene buddy," Booth leaned over to him.

"Why not? I see three freaking American lives as somethin' to get worked up about. Sorry you're so cold."

Cold. Bones was called that quite often. Was this how she felt? Insulted that one could not perceive the torrent of emotion running just under the surface? Bones was one of the most caring people he had ever met; her detached operating ways were simply the only way she was able to compensate for the morbid and depressing work she did everyday.

He physically shook his head; he had decided to move on. Ruminating on Bones wasn't going to help him. But a portion of him knew that a part of him would never be able to move on. That a piece of his heart would always remain fixated on Bones and her silky brown hair...that soft skin...

"Come on! Ain't anyone else upset?"

"I am," Brigadier General Kirk Richards stepped into the recreation hall.

The entire group of soldiers scrambled to attention; their arms snapped up into a rigid salute.

"I expected more out of you Master Sergeant," the General paced forward. "We're all upset at the loss of any American or Coalition life; don't go kidding yourself that we're all insensitive bastards."

"Sorry sir..." Herring said. His voice almost sounded like a whimper, like he was begging for mercy.

"I understand your anger. When I was on the front lines, stress builds up. That's why you have all this," he swept a hand around, motioning to the recreation area. "Kill your anger in ping pong or something."

"Yes sir!" the hall chorused.

"Sergeant Major Booth," the General gesticulated with a single finger. "I'd like to speak with you."

The hall broke out in an immature "oooo"; the kind of response that Parker's class gave when one of them was called to the principal's office.

"At ease, he isn't in trouble," Brigadier General Kirk Richards led the way out.

Booth couldn't help but gulp at the sudden calling. He had an impeccable military service record; he was honorably discharged before he reenlisted for this year. Jared, on the other hand, was dishonorably discharged; something (as he said when finding out), was something no Booth ever had before. But in the guy's defense: it had been because he helped both himself and Bones. That, he could forgive.

The General seemed to be leading him over to the officer's offices. Yes, that was completely redundant. The guys called the place the "double O." It was where all the muckety mucks sat around doing paperwork and that sort of crap.

What could they want with him? His email hadn't been working, but it wasn't like that was the concern of the higher-ups. Quite frankly, his broken email was an excuse not to call Bones. As much as he loved her, he knew he had to move on...for him. He spent his free time with his men, or calling Parker. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to call her; heck, that was like the only thing he wanted to do. But talking to her would only weaken his resolve to find someone else.

The Brigadier General flashed his badge to two military police standing guard at the door. They nodded with approval, allowing the two to pass through. Booth dipped his head in respect to the two guards as he passed.

The Officer Offices were stark and plain, only containing the bare necessities. Of course, they passed the classic war room, complete with massive map and all. But most of the facility were blank doors, labeled only with the rank and name of the man or woman who inhabited it. At the end of the hall, was the plaque reading "Brigadier General Richards." The General unlocked the door .

"Please, sit down," he motioned to a lone seat.

Booth nodded, dropping to the seat. "What is this about sir?"

Richards took his time settling in behind his desk. He shuffled through some paper work and pulled on a pair of reading spectacles. "Sergeant Major Booth, I'm putting you on standby for active combat duty."

"What?" Booth cried in disbelief. "That's not what I signed up for. I signed up to train Rangers without seeing any action.

"Sergeant, you signed on to re-join the Army of the United States."

"I duty already. I've served!"

"Why did you sign back up then?"

"To save lives," Booth held his ground.

"That's what I need you to do Sergeant. Save lives," Richards pulled off his glasses. "I don't have any men like you. I sniper, an FBI agent, and an officer with a great head on his shoulders. If I try to send out another guy, it might as well be like throwing away one of those lives that you came to save. I don't want to have to do that, and I'm sure that you don't want me to have to do that either."

"No sir," he began to come around to the man's reasoning.

"I need someone like you. But I have you, so I don't have to worry about finding anyone, because I have you. You'll be assembled into an elite six man squad for special missions."

"What kind of missions are you talking about?"

"You'll be briefed when we need you. I trust you remember Second Lieutenant Randal Hahn?" the young man, probably a West Point graduate, walked in just on cue. "He'll introduce you to the rest of the team. I believe your Master Sergeant, Herring, is on the team also."

"Sergeant Major Booth," Hahn led him over to a small lounge. "Here's your team, I think you might recognize some of these guys, they came through your program." He pointed to the first guy. "That there's Staff Sergeant Marks-"

"Marks!" Booth couldn't resist shaking the guy's hand. "You're back."

"Yeah, what can I say? I'm a quick healer," the shrapnel that had entered Marks face hadn't injured his eyes, but he hadn't escaped...well...without marks.

"And this," Hahn pointed to the next guy over, "is of course, Master Sergeant Herring." 

"Sup Boss."

"This is Sergeant First Class Daniel Stewart."

Stewart just nodded in acknowledgment. He was a rather large man, not fat, but tall and muscular.

"Good to meet you," Booth nodded back.

"Sorry man, I'm not a big talker."

Hahn turned to the third seated man. "This is Gerald Bowie; he's a light machine gun specialist."

"Yo," Bowie tipped the cap her wore.

The Second Lieutenant went to introduce the fourth man when Booth interrupted him.

"That's First Sergeant John Hunter. Expert navigator and one hell of a shot."

"You're heard of me?"

"How could I not?"

Hahn looked down at his watch. "Our last guy should be here by now-"

"Sorry I'm late," the young soldier ran into the room.

"Corporal Adam Bartlett-"

"_Corporal?_" Booth smiled with great pride.

"Field promotion Sarge," Bartlett grinned widely, pointed proudly to the chevrons on his upper arm.

"Good to know you're acquainted," Hahn said. "You're in charge of this unit Sergeant Major; you know what you're doing. You're all dismissed; we'll call and assemble you when we need you. Take your time. But with new security protocols, we can't have you guys using the phones while you are officially on this unit."

"That's just dumb sir," Herring spoke up.

"Sorry Sergeant, it isn't my call. Enjoy your evening."

The experience was actually a bit jarring; he hadn't planned on going back into combat again. Being called upon to snipe again was bad enough, but being deployed in an extremely unstable combat zone was even worse. Damn it! He had a son to go back home to. When he was younger, yeah, he did his duty. He still had people that cared about him, but he didn't have people back home depending on him like he had now. The last thing he wanted was to get his ass shot of in the desert.

He didn't have that much time left, he could easily never be sent out before he went home. Yeah. That's what he would have to hope upon...or else.

_Just 71 more days not to die..._

**B&B**

_**Hope you guys enjoyed it! I'm off vacation so plenty of writing all around! No to mention the long car trip back home; I'm hoping to get a chapter or two finished.**_

_**Reviews are awesome and make me smile! Writing feeds of smiles, and smiles help my ideas to perform mitosis. **_

_**Twitter - Objectivemiss**_


	15. Chapter 15

_**Anyone excited? Our favorite team is almost home! Then the real action begins. Until then though, still plot pushing. **_

_**Really sorry this took so long by the way; I had a lot of difficulty getting through this one. It was like pulling teeth! **_

_**Twitter - Objectivemiss**_

**B&B**

_Day 334_

**B&B**

"Dr. B! Are you coming?" Daisy yelled from the dock.

With exactly one month left in her year abroad, the team had just finished packing up on the island. The heavier machinery was sent back, the remains carefully packaged and escorted to a new facility, and the huts dismantled. The island looked like almost nothing had ever happened there. Now, with just one month to go, it was time to take the same journey the team tad taken to get here, only in reverse. That journey would begin with the boat ride back to Dili, Timor-Leste, and she wasn't looking forward to it. Even with the favorable forecast, she knew that the ride would be as seasick inducing as ever.

I would have to spend some time in Timor-Leste, finalizing travel details and making sure that equipment could make it safely back to the states.

"Yeah Dr. B! Dr. Mikel is threatening to leave you, but we all know he won't!" Keith chimed in.

Brennan took one last lingering look at the island. As an adolescent in the foster care system, moving around was something that she had to become accustomed to quickly. No matter how terrible and abusive the household was, she always took a moment to look back before she stepped down from the curb into that child services car. It was like taking a mental photograph; a snapshot, in which she could cleanly file away her memories.

"I'm coming," she turned from site, not just another field.

She strode the last few yards up to the dock and up over the gangplank on to _The Second Confidence_. Boat nomenclature had never made much sense to her, but her confidence was admittedly shaken by a boat, the second of its kind, named falsely the Confidence. Had the first ship wreaked due to overconfidence? Now she was simply becoming irrationally fearful, so she looked back to the island again.

It would be impossible to forget this place. She and the team had shaken the very foundation of what it meant to be human beings by challenging the "out of Africa" theory. She had made new acquaintances, or rather, friends. But more importantly, here, she came to terms with her own feelings. Yes, this certainly was a very, very productive year.

Aboard, she stood along the stern, watching as the island became a smaller and smaller dot upon the horizon.

"So, what do you think about the weather?" Keith walked up to her side.

"I am not a meteorologist."

"I was making conversation," he chuckled.

"Oh," the sea air whipped her hair into a torrent. "Before I go in, I have a question for you."

"Ask away."

Booth had taught her that asking advice not only benefitted the asker with an added perspective, but also was a show of trust. Considering that Keith would be staying with her for a month or two, he seemed an appropriate person to ask.

"If you were seeing someone for the first time in a year, what type of romantic gesture would you perform to inform the other party that you were still interested in pursuing an intimate relationship?"

"If this is about Daisy and her fiancé, she's already asked and I told her it was awkward to answer."

Brennan merely looked at him with an amused look on her face.

"Oh, you were talking about yourself…" he made a funny face. "Ummmm," he seemed to be racking his brains. "I'm really not the romantic type."

Suddenly, the boat lurched with great force. There was both horizontal and vertical displacement as the large wave rolled beneath the ship. Even with the seasickness patch behind her ear, seeing the motion itself still managed to make her queasy.

"I-I'm heading inside," she groped for the hand railings and she guided herself down to a bench. She lay down on the hand wooden seat, closing her eyes to try to will away the nausea.

In six hours, she would be safely on solid ground; as solid as plates floating on magma could be. Then, just a flight to Jakarta, to Tokyo, and then back to Washington Dulles. One thing she didn't miss was the terrible traffic in the city.

_It all goes by so fast; you don't want any regrets._

Pops told her that over a year ago. It was hard to believe that it was that long ago; time was relative after all. Throughout her entire year, she immensely enjoyed her work. Now, for the first time, she felt eager to be home. Not just to sleep in a bed with fresh sheets an actual mattress, but to more importantly, see Booth. She took a few proper deep breaths, her diaphragm pulling down, sucking nitrogen, carbon dioxide, oxygen, and other trace elements into her lungs.

"Are you okay Temperance?" she heard someone walk into the small cabin.

Brennan cracked a single eye open. It was Mikel, ever the concerned man. "I-I'm…simply motion sick. Nothing that won't pass with time."

"If you're sure…" he sat down across from her. "You know, Adi is now about to be considered a new species," Mikel smiled proudly. "Only one problem-"

"If you're concerned about the dwarfism theories still, I wouldn't worry as our tests have conclusively ruled that out as a possibility-"

"It's not that. You see, our new species doesn't have a name. Suggestions?"

"With all due respect, I am not an expert in taxonomy," she sat up, realizing that this conversation was no longer simply small talk and conversation making.

"I had a name I thought up. Would you be willing to give an opinion at least?"

"Certainly. I do that new species are typically named after characteristics, geographic region, or a colleague."

"A good observation. You see," Mikel paused, as if ponder whether or not to speak his mind. "I was thinking that we name Adi _Homo Temperani_."

"A-After me?" Brennan was utterly flattered. With all of her work in anthropology, never had it even crossed her mind that she might have (or want) the honor of a human ancestor bearing her name.

"Precisely."

"B-But why me?"

Mikel merely smiled, as if he fully expected her response. "You, Temperance, were the team leader. No one would argue that you didn't do the plurality of the work as far as the actual remains go. I think it would be perfect for a member of the _Homo_ genus to have your name."

"Why not name it after the region? That would undoubtedly be agreeable to the rest of the team."

"The team already has agreed upon _Homo Temperani_. Oh and remember that full hands photo we took last week? Cover of the American Anthropological Society Journal."

Brennan was aghast; sure, she and Daisy had excitedly fantasized of being on the cover of the Journal before. It wasn't like she hadn't been featured a number of times. But the whole experience was…unreal.

"It would be appropriate for you to hug me," Mikel stood with arms outstretched.

She jumped to her feet incautiously, almost knocking over the older anthropologist in her enthusiasm.

"I said hug, not crush with all your might," he laughed.

"Oh," she drew back jerkily. "I apologize."

"Nothing to say sorry for, but I do know you get seasick. So I'll let you wallow in your own sickness," he winked as he left.

This year had certainly been worth it. After all, it was only one solar cycle. Things did have to change, but they would be for the better, not the worse. It was preposterous to think that a year could be considered a measurement of distance, unless of course, one was speaking in "light years." Distance is a physical thing. But would _emotional _distance be between her and Booth? A very smart question to ask. Frankly, she hoped no; but it could be largely out of her hands. That was always difficult for Brennan to come to terms with; that events or actions may not be able to be controlled or even affected by her effort.

But largely, that distance would soon come to close.

_Just 31 days until I get home…_

**B&B  
-**

"Do you remember where I told you the key was?"

"Yes," Moore chuckled. "Under the fake rock."

Booth just smiled. "Just don't wreak my place, okay? I have to go and live there in a month."

"Stop worrying so much," the doctor walked off towards the landing strip, digital camouflage bag on his back.

It was all too easy to believe for Booth that the year was almost at its close. The stresses of a warzone did that to you; not knowing where is safe, and who was going to take a shot at you. All a day in the life of an Army Ranger. He wouldn't get to see Moore for another month; not a long time when you consider that he hadn't seen Parker, US soil, or Bones for an entire year.

"Boss!" he heard Herring shouting frantically as he ran across the dusty base.

"Hold your horses, where's the fire?"

"We need you in the briefing room…now."

Side by side, the two jogged back towards the complex, not sure what potential terrors awaited them there.

"The objective of this mission is simple," the officer at the front of the room said. Booth was becoming so focused on the action to come, he hadn't even caught the man's name, "eliminate all targets. Hostiles are of known Al Queda affiliation, and well armed. We do not want to risk a full unit assault, as fighting may potentially spill over the Pakistan border. That, would be something that the hire ups want kept quiet."

Briefings always allowed Booth to subtilize; to allow his senses to become keen and ready for the danger to come. He could already feel his (as Bones would call it) warrior's instincts kicking in. He was ready for anything that they could possibly throw at him.

"First order of business is to eliminate this stronghold," the man pointed to a fuzzy rectangle on an aerial photograph, "with C4 plastic explosives. That task will fall into the hands of Sergeant First Class Daniel Stewart."

Stewart nodded in understanding.

"Second objective is to eliminate targets. Many of these insurgents are believed to be planning to carry out attacks outside the region. We need you to get rid of the threat they present once and for all. Third, is to be sure you maintain a low profile. The last thing we want is political attention and movement of other Al Queda operatives to your area of operation. Fourth, sustain low, is not any, casualties. Any questions?"

The six man squad simply allowed silence to acknowledge the officer.

"I know this seems like a difficult task, but we wouldn't send you in if it wasn't possible. Good luck and God speed. You will be dropped in by helicopter leaving in ten."

The six men got to their feet and headed to the armory. Booth didn't even have a chance to think. In battle, it was often best not to think; it was possible for the conscious mind to make mistakes that instinct would never. It was working by the gut; not by the mind.

He picked up the standard issue body, armor, strapping himself in. Luckily he had used the bathroom before he went into the briefing. Taking of the armor to take a piss was a major pain in the ass. He grabbed the M110 Semi-Automatic Sniper System and loaded a 7.62x51mm NATO round magazine into it. He grabbed a few extra magazines, strapping them to his vest. Snipers were never great at close range, so he selected a standard issue Beretta M9 with an extra clip.

In silence, the squad loaded on to a UH-60 Black Hawk, strapping into the harnesses. It was a breathtaking feeling, watching from within, a helicopter soaring into the air. His feet dangled over the edge, the dry Afghanistan air buffeting his feet. He didn't have time to feel nervous. He didn't have time to realize that he could die. He didn't have time to think that he would be home soon.

I flew for some time, but the hours were just a blur to Booth. It seemed like everyone else was just as keep in thought as he was. Afghanistan was just one massive, mountainous desert. He couldn't help the natural hatred he felt to this place. Bones would probably spout off some anthropological crap rife with cultural relativism. All he knew was that there were people out there that wanted to kill him and his buddies. He wasn't going to let that happen.

"Landing in two minutes," the pilot yelled over his shoulder. "I can't put you down any closer! Here, you'll at least have the high ground!"

The helicopter set down on the flattest ground they could find. The squad jumped out, quickly orienting to their new environment.

"Alright, our objective is to the northwest," Booth brought his squad into formation. This was it.

The squad trekked together in a staggered column formation; their keen senses scanning the landscape for ambushes or traps. Carefully, they approached the ridgeline; their target was just on the other side.

"Alright, here's what we need to do," Booth pulled out the map from his jacket. "Bartlett and I are going to setup on the ridgeline. We'll provide over watch, over, and intel. Hunter, Stewart, I need you moving in from the northeast. That's the quickest way to the objective. There, plant the charges then retreat. You'll detonate them on my mark."

"Roger," the two said in unison.

"Bowie and Herring, I need you moving farther down the ridgeline to the point where it directly looks over the camp with a thirty yard distance." Bowie was a SAW gunner; Booth knew he should put that to good use. "Setup your M249 there, the explosion will set the guys running out your way. We still want to minimize our impact, so use discretion."

Part of him felt misplaced out here. He was no longer an "active combat" sort of guy. He was an FBI guy who chased down only moderately dangerous bad guys with a forensic anthropologist on his arm.

"Let's finish this and get back home in one piece each." 

Booth dropped into a prone position, flicking out the two stabilizers on his rifle. He wanted this to be over, but more so, he just wanted to do this job right…for his country. He squinted through the scope, closing his right eye.

"Alrighty then," Bartlett sat down next to him, binoculars and laser rage finder in hand. "Hostiles at your one o'clock, you see them." 

"Got 'em," he made the proper adjustments, his crosshairs trained; ready to fire.

From here, he could see his plan take shape from amoeba, to ship-shape. Bowie and Herring had setup on the ridge…but wait.

"Hey look over there near Bowie and Herring," Booth motioned with his head.

Bartlett turned his attention quickly over. "I see three figures moving to their rear," he pulled the binoculars away from his face, eyes wide. "They don't see them…"

The Sergeant Major pressed his hand to his throat microphone, "Herring come in. You've got bad guys moving in on your six," he said with great urgency.

Nothing.

The mission had been so sudden…how could this even be happening?

Booth swung his rifle over, hoping to get a shot. But even as great of a shot as he was, there was no way he could dispatch these three guys quickly enough; they would just realize what was up and run for cover. That wouldn't help his two guys. But he could stop this.

"Bartlett! Give me your rifle!"

The corporal handed over his M4 carbine hurriedly. "W-What are you doing?"

He was being a hero.

It didn't matter that Bones told him not to be.

This was something he had to do.

If not for himself, then for Bowie and Herring.

He broke into a full sprint, reading the assault rifle in his hands. The three men were definitely terrorists; they were armed with an AK-47 each. Finally close enough, he dropped to one knee, stabilizing his hands.

He took a breath.

Booth tugged on the trigger, the automatic rifle pouring off shots.

He exhaled.

Booth let loose another burst of fire.

The three men hit the sand…he could see blood staining the floor.

"Wow," Herring muttered, his back against cover. "Did we attract any attention?" he said over his shoulder to Bowie.

"That's a negative."

Well at least their mission wasn't completely compromised. They could still finish…Steward would probably be planting the charges right now. He should probably get back up to Bartlett.

"Keep in your positions," Booth took off back to Bartlett.

This wasn't exactly what he would consider a "mission off to a great start." He had already left Bartlett alone with a rifle he wasn't qualified to use…he froze, a sharp pain through his abdomen. He pulled a shaky hand to his stomach.

Blood.

His vision swam; darkness threatened to take over.

He dropped to the ground.

He heard shots…shuffling. Someone grabbed his arms…he was being thrown over someone's shoulder…he was being moved…he felt his consciousness ebbing…

_"Booth."_

_"B-Bones?" _I-It was like he was in another coma.

_"You promised not to be a hero."_

_"I-I couldn't…I had to."_

_"Scorpion and the frog."_

_"What?"_

_"Scorpion asks a frog to carry him across a river. The scorpion assures the frog that he won't sting him as it would result in them both dying. Scorpion stings frog in the middle of the river, explains, 'I'm a scorpion; it's my nature.' Though I never did understand how they spoke…"_

_"S-So you say that I couldn't help it."_

_"Wake up Sarge."_

_"W-What?"_

"Sarge!"

Booth opened his eyes; Bartlett was leaning over him. "W-What's going on?"

"You were shot…we're on our way back to base…I thought we lost you there for a bit."

The Sergeant Major simply looked around dazed. "D-Did we-"

"Complete the mission. Yes. I carried you out of there as soon as Stewart detonated the charges."

"T-Thanks."

"You said it yourself. The Army is about brotherhood and today, I'm here for you."

Booth was just glad to be alive…

_Just 31 days until I get out of this…_

**B&B**

_**I really hope that didn't disappoint! Reviews! Leave one! It's like reverse trick-or-treating. You come and give me candy. :D**_

_**Twitter - Objectivemiss **_


	16. Chapter 16

_**Glad everyone liked the last chapter…or, the people I heard from enjoyed the chapter. Closer and closer we get to the reunion! **_

_**It's been a weird few days; I woke up to an earthquake this morning. Yeah, I live just outside of Washington D.C.; Bones on the Blue Line anyone? Of course, by the time I finish this, the earthquake will be long gone. **_

_**Twitter - Objectivemiss**_

**- - - - - - - - - -B&B- - - - - - - - - -**

_Day 360_

**- - - - - - - - - -B&B- - - - - - - - - -**

Not surprisingly, Washington D.C. hadn't changed in a year. The monuments were still in the same place, the tourists still swarmed with cameras, and the government still squandered tax dollars. Dulles International Airport was still overcrowded and chaotic. Brennan and Keith had just landed in Northern Virginia. All that stood between her and an actual mattress was customs, and a taxi ride. Together, they picked up what little baggage they had, and headed to the proper way just to get out. Luckily, all the important articles had been shipped, so she didn't have to worry about being stopped with a human skull in her bag.

"So, why were you in Indonesia for almost a year?" the customs agent took the passport and documents she handed to him. He was obviously trained to make conversation to expose any anxiousness.

"Anthropological research," she drummed her fingers on the counter. She just wanted to get home; she didn't care how she appeared to the worker.

"Looks like everything is in order Ms. Bren-"

"Doctor Brennan," she corrected.

"You know," he placed a few stamps in her passport and on some official looking documents, "if it wasn't against protocol, I'd ask you for your autograph. But everything is set. Enjoy your time back in the states."

She never did understand why autographs meant so much to fans of her books. It was essentially just the scribbling of ink on a scrap of paper. But, she did know that it was an easy gesture to make. Quickly, she pulled a piece of loose leaf from her bag, signing her signature and slipping it to him with a smile.

"T-Thank you! Enjoy your stay!" he called after her, obviously enthralled by the yield of his work.

As Brennan's mother used to say, "Being nice doesn't cost you anything."

"Ready to go?" Keith met up with her on the other side of customs. "It's so great to be back."

"Why do you say that? I know I'll miss the weather in Maluku."

"Oh the US, land of still no health care, deep fried Twinkies, beer guts…how could you miss it?"

"Well when you put it that way…" she reseated the shoulder hanging bag.

"That was sarcasm Dr. B. Sarcasm."

They stepped out through the motion operated door and over to the cab lane, sliding into the yellow minivan. She spoke her address a few times, slowly enough that the cab driver could enter it in to his GPS device. Unfortunately, with all the time it took to get through immigration and security, their drive home was smack in the middle of Washington D.C.'s rush hour. Commuting from Northern Virginia was particularly hellish.

Home. It almost sounded foreign to say. Home. Her apartment. She had one of the Jeffersonian interns check in on her apartment once a week, so she knew the pace wasn't in total disarray. She would have asked her father or Russ to check in, but with their track record, she wasn't sure how dependable they could be. But Booth's apartment, on the other hand, had probably not been checked. Perhaps Rebecca and Parker had dropped in to recover a favorite toy, but other than that, she couldn't imagine he had thought forward enough to pay someone to look in.

If they could get back to her apartment in decent time, she could run by and check…the key to his apartment was still on her key ring.

"Where do you live in DC?" Keith looked out the window eagerly. "I have been here since I was fifteen on a high school trip. We went to the Capitol, and the Washington Monument, oh, and the Jeffersonian!"

"Northwest," she looked out the window. "We're getting close."

For the first time in almost a year, Brennan pulled up into the circle in front of her apartment. It had truly been too long.

"How much do I owe you?" she pulled out her wallet, ready to make use of the US dollars she finally had use for.

"On the house if you give me an autograph," the cab driver slipped a hardback cover of her newest book through the plastic-paned window.

Just as the customs agent placed so much value upon her signature, this cab driver valued her autograph as much as fifty-five dollar cab fee. As much as she wished to protest, she realized that it would probably be best to humor and indulge the man and get inside as quickly as possible. Whipping out the Sharpie her publisher insisted that she keep at all time, she scribbled her signature, and slid out of the cab to meet Keith on the curb.

"Nice building," he remarked.

"Dr. Brennan!" the doorman called as they walked through the lobby. "How did your dig go?" 

"Quite well actually," she moved to check her mailbox.

"Oh, the interns that visited weekly brought your mail up to your apartment. I believe you have quite a lot. It has been a year, after all."

They stepped into the elevator together, a sense of familiarity washing over her. "I have a spare bedroom and bathroom. My apartment is actually quite large and will easily accommodate the two of us with plenty of personal space," Brennan unlocked the home she hadn't inhabited for a year. "I apologize that I don't have a TV…but I fully plan on procuring one very soon. Perhaps you could pick one out that is to your liking. I'm afraid I don't know much about the specifications and desired quality."

She eyed the paper bags of mail on the kitchen counter. If there was anything she hated about being away, it was assembling all the pieces afterword and placing everything back in its neat space.

"The door on your left is your room; please make yourself at home. I-I know there isn't anything to eat here, but we can go grab a bite later. I have something I need to do."

Back out the building she went, but this time, to the parking garage. Her instructions to the interns had been to start her car every time they visited; the last thing she wanted was to return to a drained battery. She slid into her Prius, starting it up as it always had. It had been a year since she had driven. But never less, the route to Booth's apartment was sometimes flickering street lights guided her.

Brennan couldn't contain her excitement as she entered Booth's apartment building. She had only seen pictures of him; she hadn't felt him…or smelled him…

Instead of taking the elevator as usual, she opted for the stairs. Her heart rate had already risen, but she felt the need for the cardiovascular exercise. She surmounted the few flights of stairs, isolating his key from the dozens of other keys she carried. Hastily, she thrust the key into the lock, opening the door to _his_ apartment.

But wait, she froze instantly. His TV was on…things had been shifted from their normal places. Someone had been here…a guest. Feeling the need for self defense, she grabbed for the first heavy and wieldable thing she could get her hands upon: a frying pan. It was small enough to swing to reach appropriate acceleration in the small corridors to produce the necessary force to knock someone out. She really should carry a gun…

On stealthy tip toes, she crept towards the living room, frying pan at the ready. "Stand up slowly, hands where I can see them."

The man, lounging on the couch in green scrubs, stood up slowly.

"Drop whatever is in your hands."

The bag of Cheetos dropped to the floor; the cheese-covered puffs scattering on the carpeted floor.

"Who are you and what are you doing here," Brennan leered at him, staying out of his range.

"I'm Marcus Moore...Booth's letting me stay here while I interview for a job at Johns Hopkins…just don't hit me with the frying pan," Moore turned slowly around to face her. "Wait, you're Dr. Temperance Brennan!"

"Yes, that would be me."

"Booth talked about you all the time," he extended his right hand to shake.

Brennan only took a step back, still not comfortable with the strange man in the apartment. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable with leaving you here," she pulled her phone out, ready to call the authorities if needed.

"I can prove that I'm supposed to be here," Moore picked up a piece of paper from the coffee table. "It's housekeeping instructions-"

"Handwritten…" she immediately recognized Booth's familiar scrawl and writing tone. At the bottom it read, "Don't be a Moore-on; don't burn my place down."

"Can we try the introduction again?" he held his hand out again. "I'm Marcus Moore M.D.; trauma surgeon and former Major in the Army."

"Dr. Temperance Brennan, forensic anthropologist," she accepted his hand for a quick shake.

"You can put the frying pan down now," he smiled.

"Oh," she placed it down on the coffee table. "I apologize for the trouble…I just wanted to check the condition of his apartment and he didn't mention that he would have someone staying here.

"As far as I know, he'll be back in five days."

_Just 5 days until reunion…_

**- - - - - - - - - -B&B- - - - - - - - - -**

"You're a lucky man Sergeant," the Army doctor flipped through the chart at the foot of his hospital bed. "No vital organs hit, no bones hit…but you still need to keep it easy." The doctor glanced at the bedside. "I see they already got around to awarding you your purple heart."

"I'm supposed to be home in five days," Booth whined.

"Well that's good, because I'm going to have them fly you back. But you'll need to report to Walter Reed for a checkup."

"Home?"

"Yeah, after they finish checking you out there. By my estimate, you'll be ready to leave on your discharge date in full Army dress to impress the ladies."

"Like I'd do that," he watched as his vitals were checked.

"Come on, it's not like this is Vietnam. You're gonna walk through the airport with your shiny shoes…people are going to say 'thanks for serving our country' and stuff. I'm going to check the dressings on your wound now," the doctor pulled back the blanket.

"I'm not really an attention whore," Booth winced as the doctor probed.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you can't enjoy it every once and a while," he stepped back, making a few scribbles on the clipboard. "You're healing up nicely. I'm going to let you go gather up your things and say your goodbyes. You're out of this hell hole first thing tomorrow morning."

"Thanks doc," he ripped the pulse monitor off his finger.

"You're clothing is in the drawer here. Just meet the transport at the airstrip tomorrow morning." The doctor moved on to finish the rest of his rounds.

Booth couldn't help but be excited. He was given a mostly clean bill of health, and he got to go home. He would be right on time to meet Bones at the coffee cart after the one year of separation. He would get to see his son, and the United States, Bones…he was going home.

Did he regret taking the year off? He had some regrets. He missed a year of Parker's life. He hadn't seen Bones in a year. But yet, he knew he had accomplished quite a bit. He was able to train Rangers and arm them with the knowledge it had taken the better part of his life to obtain. He saved lives. He met new people.

"Hey Boss!" Herring caught him walking across the base to the recreation facilities. "They finally let you out huh?"

"You got it," they bumped fists.

"So what are you doing? Lookin' for a good time?"

"I'm on my way out tomorrow. I just wanted to say bye to the squad before I pack up and leave."

"Y-Yeah. The guys and I are settin' up for an evening of pure chill. You want to join us?"

Booth shrugged, "Sure. I don't think I'm allowed to drink or do anything insane though."

"Like we'd ever do that," the Master Sergeant rolled his eyes. "I'm really gonna miss you around here Boss."

"I'd miss me too," a cocky grin spread about his face.

Together, they pushed through the double doors to the recreation building. It was probably the last time he'd ever be here. Somehow, that really didn't upset him; the place did always smell odd…and it didn't get many TV channels.

_Maybe I'll upgrade to digital cable when I get home…_

"What took you so long?" Bartlett met the two halfway across the room. "You brought Sarge along too."

Herring nudged Booth, "I found this guy coming to say goodbye. They're sending him home tomorrow."

"Congrats," the young Corporal shook his hand. "You know we'll all miss you around here."

"Nah," Booth plopped down on to a badly stuffed, lumpy couch. "You guys will get along just fine without me. I've had a really tame year."

"You've been shot twice," Herring pointed out.

"You've been in a warzone," Bartlett added.

But compared to his other deployments, this was tame. He wasn't on the frontlines, he hadn't been captured and tortured for information, he hadn't had a comrade die in his arms; in his book, the year was a success. Or rather, it wasn't a complete loss or failure. Quite frankly, he wasn't sure how to view his year. Bones would probably say that 'he needed to step back to gain an objective view' or something like that. For once, that sounded like something that would help him.

"Thanks for the reassuring words guys," he cracked a smile.

"So it's your last night on base, what are we gonna do?" Herring smiled a diabolical smile. "We could spend it on the firing range."

"I can do that back in D.C. at the FBI building," Booth said.

"Not with us you can't," Bartlett and Herring each took one of the Sergeant Major's arms, dragging him out of the building and into the cool desert night.

It always amazed him how cool it could be with how unbearably hot it became during the day. Washington was simply hot and humid all summer; no wacky night to day temperature variations. Once again though, not something he particularly anticipated missing.

"Look, I know making war ain't somethin' you do anymore after tomorrow, but once more at the range. For old times sake?" Bartlett selected his M4 of choice.

"Hey look," Booth stopped the two in their tracks. "If you ever find yourself in Washington…" he pulled out two of the FBI business cards he kept in his pocket. "…Call me. We can have dinner, lunch, I'll show you around the city, whatever really. Don't come for me for a job though. I don't do that crap…anymore."

"I'm career military man," Herring clapped him on his back, grabbing for a 5.56 mm caliber magazine for his M16A4. "So I'll never need another job. I plan on being a really, really old Colonel or somethin'."

"I'll be working at the family business when I'm done…unless I reenlist," the Corporal dropped to a pone position, resting the barrel of his rifle on a sandbag. "But otherwise, I'll totally come and beg you for a job Sarge. Maybe I can make copies for you."

"Great," Booth laughed. "I see how much you guys have learned from me and my training program."

"I heard the higher ups tryin' to get you to stay on…but I hear you held your ground like the Ranger you are," Herring let loose a few shells down range. "I don't blame ya though; you did your service. You got your pity purple heart," he laughed. "And don't forget all that shiny stuff you already had for your dress jacket. You'll do just fine on the outside buddy."

For one hour, they enjoyed just shooting off rounds and stress at the same time. But, it was getting late, and he still needed to pack up his stuff. Alone, he wandered back to the barracks.

The barracks were only a steel frame with sheet metal hastily bent over. Luckily, he hadn't unpacked much; just a few toiletries in the communal bathroom and a set of clothing in a drawer with "Booth" velcroed on. It was like they expected him to go; like they knew he would. He ripped the label off, tossing it into his duffel bag; Parker might like it. His duffel bag only had the bare necessities and was surprisingly light. He left it neatly by his bed, tucking the socks he had left out in. Despite the late hour, the pace was deserted. So alone, he slipped under the covers on to his poor excuse for a mattress, and fell asleep.

_Just 5 days until reunion… _

**- - - - - - - - - -B&B- - - - - - - - - -**

_**Hope you enjoyed! Much much more on the way! I hope to have a chapter out next week before I head off to drum major camp during the last week of July, then finish that week of with Otakon (I'll be dressed as Zoey from Left 4 Dead!) that weekend.**_

_**Reviews are awesome sauce! Send some my way!**_


	17. Chapter 17

_**Can you believe we're finally here? It took longer than I would have liked, but it's about the journey, right? I plan on having this finished before the Season 6 premiere ruins all our dreamy notions. But don't worry; this story isn't done with this chapter. We still have a bit of a ways to go, some troubles to clear, and some fun to be had. So sit back and enjoy!**_

_**Once again, I apologize to all tourists of Washington D.C., I hope no animosity shows in this...or how much I hate the Metro. And the "Forensic Friday" I mention is a real thing at the Smithsonian Institution on some Fridays in the summer. It's run by the real forensic anthropologists of the Smithsonian. A good time; check it out if you're around. **_

_**This one is dedicated to all the men and women service women of the US armed forces and those all around the world (unless you are fighting the US ;) kidding).**_

_**Twitter - ObjectiveMiss**_

**- - - - - - - - - -B&B- - - - - - - - - -**

_Day 0_

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Today was the day. After one extremely long year of wait and separation, it was time for Dr. Temperance Brennan to make her way to the coffee cart at the Lincoln Memorial to meet Booth. Her entire being felt excited to see him and be there. It was the feeling she always got on before the first day of classes for the semester in college and graduate school. It was a feeling of eagerness; of moths in the stomach…or was it butterflies? Either way, it was a happiness laced with nervousness; she couldn't really be sure what to expect, Booth did insist that it would be impossible for a year not to change things.

"Sweetie," Angela snapped her fingers. "Earth to Brennan. Where is your mind today?"

The agreement was that she and Booth would meet around midday, so she decided to meet Angela for breakfast at the diner in the morning. The staff was glad to see her back, and of course, asked about Booth. But it was the nature of food service that positions turn over, so some of the employees they had become familiar with had left and headed their separate ways. Sort of like her and Booth; parting because it would yield the greatest…well, not happiness.

"I-I'm just thinking-"

"About Booth," the artist smiled knowingly, stirring her double chocolate milkshake. "Of course, I can tell you have been thinking of him for that entire year."

"How could you possibly-"

"You forget, I know you," Angela pointed a fry at her before munching at the potato sliver.

"All you've done is talk about me," Brennan played with her salad. "Tell me about Paris. How is Hodgins doing?"

"God he's amazing. Married life has been treating me so good. Paris is romantic as ever and boy, did I create some phenomenal paintings. I have one for you."

"Really?" she perked up in genuine surprise.

"I have a picture of it," Angela leaned down to shuffle through her garish handbag. "Here," she pulled out a small printer page sized copy.

Brennan had no doubt that Angela was a gifted artist, but her pieces could still manage to surprise her. The oil painting was of two skeletal hands, one male, one female, in an embrace. The thumb of the male hand smoothed over the dorsal surface of the female one. Despite the fact that no muscle or tendons held the bone in its pace, it was beautiful; it a macabre manner. As one who was exposed daily to decomposed human remains, morbid was something she was willing to deal in.

"This is anatomically correct, especially in the carpals," Brennan placed the copy on the table, sliding it back to its creator.

"Well I knew you'd never hang it up if it wasn't perfectly perfect," the artist smiled broadly.

"Thank you," she looked up, truly touched by her best friend's gesture.

It was easy to buy a gift, even if one had to spend much time ruminating over what to select. Making one, however, showcased a much higher level of effort and care. It was like that Christmas they spent in lockdown, fashioning gifts from lab supplies to simply simulate gift giving which began as Roman gift exchanges during the new year. In fact, the church, at one time, attempted to outlaw the gift giving tradition. However, under enormous pressure from the masses, they simply justified it with the Magi bringing gifts to Jesus. While this was something that she did not believe in, it didn't stop it from being an interesting story.

"It's no big sweetie," Angela leaned back in her chair. "Can't wait to see your knight in standard issue Army Kevlar huh?"

"Booth isn't a knight...but he does operate under a moral code similar to that of chivalry. The FBI could be his feudal lord...but besides, he might not have even had the need for body armor; he was training Rangers in counter terrorist techniques."

Armor was worn by someone who knew they could potentially become a target. Booth wasn't, ergo, no body armor...she hoped.

"You aren't going to change the subject when you talk to him right?" she quirked an eyebrow.

"I-I don't know what you mean."

"Don't tell me you've forgotten," the artist leaned over the table, concern evident in her eyes and brow. "Remember what I talked about when Jack and I visited you? Remember? 'Cause I sure hope you haven't forgotten. Don't tell me you've gotten cold feet-"

"No-" Brennan cut her off. "I plan on telling him-"

"Today?" Angela seemed to percolate at the notion.

"Perhaps not today...but soon." 

"Let me tell you," she slurped the last of her milkshake, gurgling noises emanating from her bendy straw, dissatisfied in the sudden reduction of fluid to suck. "The sooner the better. You told me Booth wanted to do something stupid like move on. Don't even give him the chance to do that."

"That still might be for the better for us both-"

"No," the artist silenced her protests with a heated, "I know exactly what I'm talking about" glare. "He loves you. You know it, I know it, basically all of the Jeffersonian knows it and that's all that matters. He wants you. You want him. What's so complicated?"

Brennan scowled; since when were relationships simple. "You're the one who always stressed the complexity of romantic entanglements."

"That doesn't mean you have to make them difficult."

The forensic anthropologist sneaked a look at her Rolex. She didn't want to be late or miss him.

"I'm going to be late," she pulled out a twenty dollar bill, slapping it to the table. "Thanks for lunch."

"We should totally setup a meal with Booth and the whole Jeffersonian crew before we head back to work."

"Call me!" Brennan called as she exited, the door bell tolling as she left.

She slid into the driver's seat of her Prius, deftly maneuvering it out of the spot she had tightly parallel parked. The Lincoln memorial wasn't far at all from the diner; the diner, of course, being a location of convenience near the Jeffersonian institute. She drove up over to Constitution Avenue, parking along the side right near the Constitution Gardens Pond. For May, the weather was excellent. While the parking space she had selected wasn't the closest available slot, she really enjoyed the walk. The asphalt paths winded through the trees and waning shade, casting leafy shadows on the ground.

Soon enough, she approached the reflecting pool, taking a moment to look along. To the front, the Korean War Veteran's Memorial poked through the foliage. To the left, she could see the National World War II Memorial in the shadow of the Washington Monument. And to her right, the Lincoln Memorial and its coffee cart.

Almost apprehensively, she strolled towards the monument and the coffee cart. Should she get Booth his usual? Or wait until he arrived? She wasn't sure when his flight would land, so it wouldn't be pleasant to hand him a lukewarm cup of coffee with a "welcome home." Instead, she opted to fork over the cash for her four dollar latte and sat on a nearby bench. It was May, still too early for tourists to clog the city with camera flashes and "I love DC" shirts bought of street vendors. She had to be used to it though; the higher ups insisted that she run "forensic Friday" in the summers to "involve the community."

Her eyes scanned the wandering masses for Booth's unmistakable broad-shouldered figure. She saw a man across the reflecting pool that could be him. He had the same approximate stature, but then he turned around. Definitely not Booth. A few false alarms later, she saw him.

She saw him.

Brennan felt terribly stupid that she was looking for Army fatigues. No, he was in his dress uniform. His well pressed blue slacks hiding lean legs, shined black dress shoes, and black jacket. He looked terribly handsome. Although she was not familiar with the various bars, ribbons, and medals, he looked rather distinguished. Stripes on his arms, rank on his shoulder, beret worn proudly on his head (of which she could tell, his hair was certainly cut down); he was amazing.

Every confidant step he took brought him closer and closer to her frozen-in-place form. Every step brought them closer and closer.

Finally, he stepped into range.

"Booth," she smiled, stepping towards him to envelop him in a hug.

_The day had come at last…_

**- - - - - - - - - -B&B- - - - - - - - - -**

That Army doctor was right. After being flown all around the world (or at least, it felt like it), he finally made it back on a commercial flight to Washington Dulles. He had the overseas service bars added to his sleeves, and he proudly pinned his purple heart to his chest. The Army doctor was right; he didn't plan on all the attention he was about to receive.

He knew that every step took him closer and closer to where he wanted to be; that coffee cart near the Lincoln Memorial.

"Thank you for service sir."

"Welcome home."

"Thank you sir."

The warm welcomes home from people he had never met before warmed his heart. All he could think of was seeing Bones again. He had to suppress the feeling to run up to her, sweep her into his arms, then plant a sweet kiss on her lips to show him how he truly felt.

But no; he had promised himself that he would move on. Doing something as rash as that would only complicate matters further.

So much had changed in his year away; it was rather inevitable. Dulles had gotten rid of the "creepy crawler" bus transport system, and now had sleek, state of the art trains that zipped people from terminal to terminal. The Metro purple line had been completed; home was now only a subway ride away. But for Bones, subway wasn't her preferred method of transportation. He teased during that body that turned out on the blue line that she didn't like being underground. That, of course, was not the case, but she still would rather move about in the fresh air.

He took the escalator down into the dank subway tunnel, sliding a few crinkled dollar bills into a machine for a fare card. Sidestepping through the retracting orange turnstile, he stepped aboard the train just before it left the station. Commuting by Metro was dismal; no one talked, only sat staring aimlessly at the passing tunnel lights or their personal electronic devices. Setting his army green duffel bag on the orange seat next to him, he closed his eyes for a moment. It had truly been a year since he'd been in an all American city.

He wanted to swing by his apartment to say hello to Moore before heading off to the Lincoln Memorial. His car…would his SUV even start when he tried to drive it?

Soon enough, he changed trains and was emerging up to the May sun. He hadn't walked to his own apartment in a year. Like he had countless times, he bounded up the stairs. Booth frantically checked his pockets; he didn't have his key. Briefly, he thought about going for the spare key under the apparently obvious fake rock, but Moore would have retrieved that one to get in when he got back a month ago.

He smacked his fist on his door, "Moore, if you're in there. Open up!" He heard some shuffling in the apartment.

"What's the password?" came the sarcastic, muffled reply from the other side. Had it been anyone other than Moore, he would have waited for the following evil cackle.

"Just open it up you moron! That's my apartment you're in! It's my house!" he almost laughed at the end.

"Alright already," Moore chuckled as he opened up the door. "Look at you soldier boy, all with your Army Service Uniform on."

Booth smiled broadly, his tongue sticking through his teeth as he checked out his apartment. It was cleaner than he remembered it; that was probably Moore's doing. "I figured I had to get some wear out of my ASU."

"Why not right? No more army for you or me," the surgeon dropped to the couch.

"How did that Johns Hopkins interview pan out?"

"Really really well," Moore shrugged. "I got the job as a trauma surgeon. Apparently, treating Army trauma isn't that different from treating victims of gang violence and car crashes," he deadpanned.

"Guess so," Booth walked over to his refrigerator, taking a quick swig out of the open carton of milk.

"But yeah, I start in two days actually, so I'll be commuting from here to there and I hear it sucks. But I don't really want to live in Baltimore either."

"You can stay here as long as you need," Booth picked up his cell phone from the kitchen drawer he had left it in. He turned it on, eyeing the time.

"Probably won't be for too long; I hate being dependant on you like this."

"It's really not a big deal-"

"Booth," Moore stopped him. "I like to have my space. That's not exactly something I got a whole lot of in the Army. Besides, I can't seduce ladies to your place," he elbowed him.

"Very funny, but I'm going to be late."

"To where, you only just got here-" the doctor paused, smiling knowingly. "You're going to see _your_ doctor, aren't you? Tell her 'hi' from me."

"I-I will," he slipped back out the door, leaving his duffel bag at this place next to the door.

The weather was beautiful and he didn't live more than a ten minute walk away from the Lincoln Memorial, so he decided to walk. In Afghanistan, he'd be boiling and wishing to get back inside; that year had almost convinced him that the sun was an evil thing out to get him. He had forgotten how benevolent of a star it could be, warming his skin and his soul.

Things had changed; but he hadn't gotten the opportunity yet to assess whether the change was for the better or worse. He was expected to start back up with the FBI next week, but he had to recertify as a marksman and jump through all the bureaucratic hoops before he would get his badge and gun back. Ironic really; he spend much of the last few months as a marksman, now he had to go shoot some paper targets to get another piece of paper and signature saying that he could shoot.

He could see the monument in the distance now, looming in his gaze like a flashing beacon. It was surreal, almost like a dream. Suddenly, he realized that the faster he walked, the faster he got to see Bones. Quickly, he picked up the face to a forced march, practically running towards where he imagined she would be. But wait, he paused mid-stride. What would she think if he looked like he was extremely rushed to see her? He wouldn't want to send the wrong message. He slowed down to a relaxed, but yet brink, pace.

Booth couldn't help but feel a bit anxious about well…them. They were like a jigsaw puzzle, torn apart through the middle. Through the year in which they hadn't been reassembled, neither knew what had happened to their half of the puzzle. Had the condition deteriorated? Had they lost some of the pieces? Had they simply forgotten how to piece it all back together?

But he was a faithful man to the core; he_ knew_ they could work out anything that might have arisen between them. In fact, he could think of a few.

Number one: he had been shot…twice. The friendly fire one hardly counted though. But, it was never less a wound; one that Bones would certainly notice. Wait, when had he _expected_ that she would see him without a shirt on?

Number two: he killed people. To Bones, well, she would justify it with some anthropological mumbo jumbo, but only on the surface. He knew that knowledge would affect her intimately.

Number three: his active duty. He had promised her before he left, and over email and phone that he would only be training. Booth could only imagine her ire.

Number four: love. That had already been discussed; she rejected him.

Brushing off the feelings of dread, he found himself staring into the reflecting pool. His mind's eye pictured Bones sitting on that bench that they always drank coffee on; sure enough she was there.

He saw her for the first time in a year.

He took a few moments just to look at her from afar. He could already tell that her hair was longer and her skin tanner, but that was all he could discern with the distance.

Slowly but surely, he walked over; his pace exponentially picking up with every step. Even if he had wanted to, he couldn't have concealed the spark in his eye when she noticed him, standing up to greet him.

After when seemed like an eternity, he found himself at arm's length.

"Booth?" she stepped to him, wrapping her arms about him in an embrace.

"Bones."

_The day had come at last…_

**- - - - - - - - - -B&B- - - - - - - - - -**

_**Don't kill me for leaving it there! I have a good reason I promise! Just please, put down the pitchforks for one second and I'll explain.**_

_**You see, with them meeting, the writing style will change. How you ask? Well, now that they are together, the once a chapter view shifts will disappear. Don't forget, I'll be away all week, but I'll have a pen and paper to write. Reviews make their reunion sweeter! No, that's a lie. But I'd still like them. ;)**_

_**Twitter - ObjectiveMiss**_


	18. Chapter 18

_**Did you miss me? Well I'm back after a long week at drum major camp, and here you go! The moment you've been waiting for! Smiles all around!**_

_**This one is a bit on the shorter side (for me anyway, I usually try to go for around 3000 words, give or take), but I wanted to give you guys something.**_

_**Twitter - ObjectiveMiss**_

**- - - - - - - - - -B&B- - - - - - - - - -**

_Day 0_

**- - - - - - - - - -B&B- - - - - - - - - -**

"Booth?" she stepped to him, wrapping her arms about him in an embrace.

"Bones," he tilted his cranium back, allowing her to tuck her to tuck her head under him; his chin rested comfortably on the top of her skull. He, just being FBI agent with the gun, wasn't sure whether he was resting on the frontal or the parietal region. It didn't matter in the end.

"I-I missed you so much," Brennan could not stop the tears from freely flowing from her eyes.

For the first time in an entire year, she felt completed. She felt like a lock that had finally found its key; a puzzle reunited with its missing half. It was as if their bodies were simply made for one another. Of course, this notion was illogical, as human beings were born, not manufactured and subject to quality control standards to be sure that a person would "fit" with another. But, never less, the notion seemed to stick in her mind like plaque in an obese man's blood vessels. Hopefully too many ideas like this wouldn't stick; a stroke at her age would be tragic.

"I missed you too," he kissed the top her head sweetly.

God, how he wanted to step back, pull her close, and capture her magnificent lips in his. But, knowing that he either had to move on, or allow her to play white and move first, a kiss simply did not seem light the brightest idea to act upon.

"I have a lot to tell you," Brennan admitted, pulling back to look into his chestnut eyes, emotion evident from deep within those portals to his soul.

"I have a few things to say too…"

For a moment, she thought that he was going to kiss her; and she to him. It was simply that look on his face; she had seen it many times before, but twice before their lips had actually contacted one another's. Once, it was outside that shady billiards car in the pouring rain. That was perhaps the best kiss of her life. She had to admit, the power of it had scared her, so much that she ran despite the mind numbing pleasure. The second was on that cool evening outside of Sweet's building. Of course, that kiss arguably scared her even more than the first; so much that she pushed him away in the middle of things. She thought that only for a moment though, as the look vanished from his face like criminals from the scene of a crime.

"I'll go first," Booth mentally made sure that both of his feet were planted firmly on the ground. But somehow, this setting didn't feel fit to tell her that he had, (against her obvious desires), played hero and paid the price. "I-"

"Please don't tell me this is what I am assuming this is," she sunk down to the park bench, physically wincing.

"What do you think it is?" he followed her down to sit beside her.

"You found someone _else_," she spat the last word with obvious disgust. Angela had warned her that he could have obviously moved on by now. It had been a year after all; but who had time to date in the military? It simply didn't seem like it would be effective at all.

"No," the now former Ranger said softly, thankful she had not anticipated his active duty bout. "I-I," she was not in the proper condition to hear his news. He knew it would bring her pain and couldn't bring himself to tell her in her rather vulnerable position. "I have someone living with me for a while."

"So you have found someone else," she said dejectedly. She had been too late, just as she feared.

"Not like that," he assured, "it's a guy,"

"I am not homophobic."

"Not like that!" Booth jumped a bit. Why did everyone always ask if he was gay? "He's a guy I met in the Army; just a friend. His name is Marcus Moore, I think you'd like him. He's a surgeon."

"We've met," Brennan finally looked up, a small smile on her face and mirth in her eyes.

"What?" he laughed in surprise. "Do tell."

"Perhaps another time," she laid her hand over his as a rather blatant sign of affection.

"Bones, why don't we just relax today? We can worry about what we each really wanted to say in a day or two. Okay?"

He knew he was just temporarily side stepping the problem. Like a speeding tetherball, ducking once only spared you from the first pass; the second was destined to smack you in the nose.

"That is perfectly reasonable," she leaned to him, trying just to get closer.

She knew that she was only postponing what she had to say. She loved him. Or rather, she had inklings that she felt for him in that manner. One thing she was sure of, however, was that turning him down and literally pushing him away that evening was a grave mistake; possibly (if she was unable to right it in the future) the most heinous error of all her years of life.

Suddenly, she scooted farther down the bench.

"Why did you back up?"

"For perspective." Respectfully, he eyed her up and down. "You look…different."

"Is that a good thing…or a bad thing?" Brennan felt suddenly unsecure. This was exactly something she was accustomed to.

"…Good," he paused.

The sun had tanned her skin to a healthy brown; the long hours of outside labor had tightened her already lean arms and legs. Her hair was substantially longer; it now easily reached the bottom of her scapula. The bright light had also lightened her hair.

"Oh, by the way. I have someone living with me also," she added quickly; it was an afterthought for her.

"What?" Booth's eyebrows instantly furrowed.

"His name is Keith Merrill; he's really a very fine anthropology graduate student."

_She_ had been the one to move on; even before he had. And with a kid so many more years younger than her? He could not recall if he had had the discussed "cougars" with Bones. Ah, he had, and she admitted that all women enjoyed younger men because of their sexual energy. He had that…he was not old per say…

"He will be temporarily taking an internship position at the Jeffersonian under my instruction."

"So you found someone then," he looked off in to the distance, trying to hide the disappointment on his face from showing.

"I wasn't looking for another intern, and his is a biological anthropology student as opposed to forensics, but I think it will be an excellent opportunity for him and-"

"Does he make you happy?" Booth snapped his head back to her with military-like precision and intensity.

"Well he is quite brilliant; he almost reminds me of the potential I had as a graduate student."

"Do you love him?"

"Of course not," Brennan looked up.

Their eyes locked.

"You thought I-"

They both smiled, mirroring each other.

"I thought you-"

Together, they broke into sweet, sweet laughter. It was really like old times again.

"I can't believe I even thought that…I'm sorry," he flashed his charm smile. "Forgive me?"

"Of course," she bit her lip cutely.

"Why don't I make it up to you," Booth got to his feet, offering his hand. "Tonight, we hit Wong Fu's for some chow. Tomorrow morning, we bring our roommates to the diner for some old fashioned American style eggs and bakey. You game?"

"I think that's acceptable…on one condition," she allowed him to pull her into a standing position. The second their hands touched, she felt a burst of electricity jump between them. Knowing that with the high humidity, it was surely not static, it had to be her imagination.

"What would that be?" By some mutual consensus, they began to talk and wander around the monument.

"I can skip the bacon," she nudged him playfully.

"You're still vegetarian?" he teased.

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?" 

"You mean you didn't 'sample the native culture through foods' or something like that?"

"I have broken my vegetarian on occasion for cultural immersion, but it never turns out well…"

"What do you mean by that?" Booth asked, genuinely curious.

"After one stops eating meat, it can become difficult to digest and can cause…distress. Even if I were to eat meat on accident, I would feel an extremely large urge to vomit after-" her gaze snapped to the purple medal on his chest. Brennan didn't know that much about military commendations, but the heart, lined in gold medal, with the shimmering profile of a man. It was a purple heart; an award given to those wounded…not only wounded, but wounded it battle.

"Bones, what's up? You-" his eyes widened when he realized what she was staring at.

"No no no no no…." she stepped back. "Y-You can't help being yourself…it's your nature and I was foolish to think this wasn't going to happen."

"Please…let me explain…" Booth pleaded.

"Did you plan on telling me?" her eyes rimmed with fresh tears.

"Stop, calm down-"

"You're asking me to calm down?" she fumed. "You were obviously in combat…you promised that you would just be training other soldiers…not fighting yourself…"

"Bones," he grabbed her wrist.

"Don't touch me," she ripped her hand back to herself.

"Okay," he held his hand up in surrender. "You can't say no to the Army. I-I signed on to join; they could assign me around like they wanted. I did go into combat. I did play hero. But I did save one of my men. And I _know_ that was right. I went to the Army to save lives…that's exactly what I did. That shot hit me in a stomach," he seized her hand again, this time puling it to where he was shot. "They fixed me up, I've been shot before."

She nodded in understanding, still visibly upset. Part of her was not surprised, but the other portion felt betrayed. It was like someone had grabbed a fist full of her hair and violently pulled and twisted it in some sort of perverse satisfaction. And well, she had experienced that in foster care.

"I'm okay," he tilted her chin up.

"I-Is that what you wanted to tell me?"

"There's more," Booth swallowed hard. It felt like his mouth was dry and he had just swallowed a jagged rock. "I was shot before…in the leg. No, it wasn't combat," he tried to combat her piercing, sorrowful glare. "Friendly fire. It was an accident."

Brennan just stood there, stunned.

"Please, say something."

"I-I don't know what to say…" she crossed her arms defensively.

"I survived. It was only a year," he brushed a stray hair from her pouting face. "We survived the year…that's all that matters. We're both here."

She carefully nodded. Booth was here in front of her; and in one single piece no less. But yet, she had pleaded with him to not to play hero. She felt hurt, and she couldn't help it.

"I-I know you're hurt. That's why I wanted to wait to tell you-"

"Until when? Never?"

"…Until you were ready to hear it," he looked down, now a bit disgusted with his idea of waiting to tell her.

"So you were going to be dishonest," Brennan was meeting him blow for blow. She wasn't going to back down. "Avoiding telling the truth is dishonesty. I thought our relationship we always open…"

"Okay," he held a hand up as a sign of surrender. "If you suffered any life threatening injuries, speak now, or forever hold your piece."

Rather reluctantly, her eyes darted to her upper right arm. The now scaring laceration was cloaked by her short sleeves. Deliberately, she drew her shirt upwards, revealing scar. "It wasn't life threatening; only a flesh wound."

Booth gasped at the sight. Sure, he had most certainly seen worse, but his heart went out to her. "W-What happened…"

"I had a run in with an inattentive boat while scuba diving…"

"Is that what you wanted to tell me?"

"Yes," she lied.

Sure, the physical issues were now out in the open, but she knew that it wasn't what concerned her most at the moment. Heck, she had almost forgotten of her boating accident. The thought of blurting out her feelings crossed her mind, but she decided against it. It was easy to justify this as "not the right time," or "not the right setting," but the plain truth (as she liked it) was this: Brennan was petrified. It was impossible to predict his reaction. It was impossible to predict her own reaction. It was impossible to predict what her confession would do to their professional relationship. It was impossible to predict what it would do to their personal relationship.

"Well now that everything is out in the open, can we still meet for breakfast?"

Booth knew her better than anybody else; perhaps even better than herself. He could guess her computer passwords, what she would order at a restaurant, and just knew how she acted. It was almost like she was holding something back. She was like a soda, shaken to excite all the carbon dioxide; the pressure built from within, thratening an explosive opening.

"Of course. Of course…"

**- - - - - - - - - -B&B- - - - - - - - - -**

_**I hope that lived up to expectations! We're still not in the clear for these two though, as I'm sure you have guessed. By the way, I'm am thinking of this having a sequel. Anyone game for that? **_

_**EDIT: For clarification, we still have a few chapters to go before the sequel would begin (if I decide to take that path).**_

_**Send me a review, whether it be about the chapter or my notions of a sequel. I would love to have the feedback!**_

_**Twitter - ObjectiveMiss**_


	19. Chapter 19

_**Well here we go guys! Just a word of warning though; my upcoming weeks will become increasingly busy as marching band starts and we head up to the first week of school. But do not worry gentle viewers…errr…readers; I will continue to write and these should not interfere with my writing.**_

_**Glad you enjoyed the reunion chapter! But like I said, we aren't out of the woods yet; I've got one more chapter planned. But yes, I have decided to write a sequel and yes, it will follow the "year" theme that I have set in this story. But, you'll have to hang tight through this story to figure out the nature of the sequel! Without further ado, enjoy!**_

_**I apologize for the number of perspective changes in this, but it is really necessary to move the story forward.**_

_**Twitter - ObjectiveMiss**_

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_Day -1_

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"Where did you say we were going again Dr. B?" Keith pushed up his rimless farther up the bridge of his nose, squinting at the miniature tourist map in his hand. He changed the orientation a few times, struggling to get his bearings. "I'm excited to start work today, but isn't the Jeffersonian that way," he pointed. "Or that way…" he pointed in a completely different direction, unsure of where they were.

"We're going out to breakfast first," Brennan said with a turn of the wheel.

"Most important meal of the day," the young anthropologist crumbled up the useless map, dropping it in to his lap.

"You'll enjoy it," she assured.

"I'm sure I will," he smiled, as they pulled up to the curb.

The diner was just as she remembered it; the exterior remained unchanged. "The Royal Diner," read the sign above the large windows. And from the curb, she could tell that the interior hadn't changed either. It was comforting to know that amidst the turmoil of a year, something could remain constant. The relationship between her and Booth had changed; and if it would not evolve, she would make it change. It had taken her a full year to figure out that she loved him; she wasn't going to allow another year to pass with relationship stagnation. But, every time she thought about saying something…she fell into a fantod that would take some time to pass.

Together, the two swung through the double doors, a bell tolling to signal there entrance. Booth and his guest had not yet arrived.

"Table for two…oh wow," the manager walked over. "Dr. Brennan! I haven't seen you in quite a while! How was that dig thing Booth said you were goin' on? And how is he doin' with that Army gig?"

"Table for four," Brennan smiled. "My dig was a success, and Booth is also back in D.C. now."

"Well that's just fine and dandy," the manager sat them down at their usual table, placing four of the well worn and well known menus on the table. "Not that you and Booth need these anyway," he winked. "Take your time, orderin'; it's a slow morning."

"Thanks," she took one of the window seats, Keith dropping to the chair beside her.

But her attention was not focused on the menu. No, her gaze continued to fall on the street, waiting for his familiar black SUV to pull up. It was not like she had anything better to do; she always ordered the same thing for breakfast when she and he would visit before work.

"What's good here Dr. B?" Keith looked up from his menu.

"Everything she is good…" she trailed off, catching a glimpse of his SUV pulling up to the curb.

She watched his confidant stride, his roommate not far behind. He was back in his usual appeal; a black, finely tailored suit, flashy tie, and an equally ostentatious belt buckle screaming his masculinity to every passerby. Brennan took a deep breath as he stepped into the dining establishment.

"Bones, this is Marcus Moore, the guy who you have apparently already met. Who do we have here?"

**- - - - - - - - - -B&B- - - - - - - - - -**

"How far away is this place? Your refrigerator is out of food and I'm starving," Moore complained. "With this much time, I could have driven up to Johns Hopkins, gotten some crappy cafeteria chow, then have still had the time to be mugged and robbed by thugs."

"How about that Mr. Ungrateful," Booth hit the gas.

They had hit _every_ red light on the way here; and that was not hyperbole. That did not even cover the non-English speaking tour bus that got lost and stopped in the middle of the road, halting traffic. The worst park was that they could not even give them directions to move out of the way. He could only clench the steering wheel as hard as possible to resist jumping from the car, waving his Glock while foaming at the mouth. At least it wasn't a touring group of clowns or something like that. It didn't seem worth it though; therapy with Gordon Gordon was one thing, therapy with Sweets was a completely different animal.

"You said this place is good right?"

"Only the best," he smiled.

"Well good. And you said that your _partner_," the surgeon accented his last word with sarcastic air quotes, "and some anthropologist buddy of hers is going to be there?"

"The one and only Bones and whatever squint she brought back as a present from them islands of hers."

"Do you think she will autograph one of her books?" Moore pulled a hardcover book from his bag.

"I'm sure," Booth swung the SUV around a tight corner. "She's never been a big fan of signing stuff."

"I thought celebrities loved that sort of thing," he tapped his fingers impatiently on the dashboard.

"No not Bones. She once said something like 'autographs perpetuate hero worship which exposes a lack of individual thought and self identification' blah blah blah," the FBI agent squirmed in his seat as he reached a hand around to check his back pocket. "You got any change?"

"I think so, I always keep some so I can get a Coke Zero from the vending machine between shifts," Moore pulled out a zip-loc bag of quarters. "This enough?"

"All of this for some soda?" he dropped the bag into his lap.

"Maybe a sugar-free Red Bull on occasion," the former major shrugged. "But only if things are getting really bad. Caffeine in high quantities doesn't give me hand tremors like it does to some of the other guys, but I hate to take that risk. Last think I need is to be up to my mid-forearm in intestines and guts-"

"I really don't need the imagery you Moore-on," Booth chuckled, pulling up on to the street of the Royal Diner.

His sniper-trained eyes scanned the street for one of the most important things; an open parking spot. His searched paid off quickly; a spot was open to parallel park; and an easy spot too.

"Gold…" he muttered to himself. The SUV was government-issue anyways; if it were to get a bit banged up, he could always blame it on a suspect encounter or something. All that mattered was getting into that diner as fast as possible.

"Are we here?" Moore unbuckled his seatbelt.

"Yep," he popped a few quarters into the meter before leading the way to the diner.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted Bones in the window. Looking at him. He averted his gaze, only wanting to avoid the awkwardness of catching someone's eye across the room. One never knows if it is more gawkish to lock into a stare, or break the glare.

He stepped in to the diner, accompanied by the familiar bell ring. Bones and her…companion were seated at _their_ usual table. He wasn't jealous. Boy, he was not jealous of some glasses wearing poindexter kid.

"Bones, this is Marcus Moore, the guy who you have apparently already met. Who do we have here?"

"Oh this is Keith Merrill, the anthropology student I was telling you about," Brennan smiled.

"Good to meet you," Booth offered his hand to the young man, squeezing his hand a bit more than necessary.

"You too…" Keith pulled his hand gracelessly away.

This was going to be an interesting breakfast indeed…

**- - - - - - - - - -B&B- - - - - - - - - -**

"-and so then I tell her, that Booth's letting me stay at his place for a while and not to hit me with a frying pan," Moore laughed, recounting his first meeting with _the_ Dr. Brennan.

"I don't see why you find my use of the frying pan so outrageously humorous," Brennan took a sip of her coffee with an amused smile.

"Bones, couldn't you do better than something from my kitchen?" Booth said, a bit of bacon flying across the table, his mouth still full.

"It was the closest thing I could find," she justified. "It was easily wieldable, and had a small enough swing radius that I could use it in combat in the narrow halls of your apartment."

"The halls are not narrow!"

"Booth," Moore nudged him in the side, "when you stand so your shoulders are perpendicular to the walls, I feel like you're walking through a hobbit house."

"Oh no," the FBI agent took a sip of his coffee. "You're one of those squints, I knew it!"

"Guilty as charged," the surgeon scooped some hash browns into his mouth. "You should have come to that outdoor Star Trek showing with me. You would have loved it!"

Keith grinned widely, "You're a Trekkie?"

"A closet one," Moore pointed his fork across the table, checking his watch in the process. "Booth, I gotta run if I want to be ready for the late shift up in Baltimore tonight and I really don't want to drive during rush hour in that rental car. And, if I go up early, I might be able to swing around an apartment I was looking at because as great as it is staying with you man, your TV is really small."

"Well thanks," Booth stood with the rest of the table as Moore took his leave.

Breakfast had gone exceptionally well. Everyone had gotten along without any outward signs of aggression or hurt feelings to been seen or felt. Together, the three dropped back in to their seats, finishing up the scraps of their meals.

"I hope you guys enjoyed, come back again," the waitress stood up the check.

"I'll get it," Booth and Brennan said simultaneously.

"Consider it my treat for having you back from Indonesia," Booth grabbed the check.

"Well consider it my gift for having you back from Afghanistan," Brennan grabbed the opposite end pulling it towards her.

"Not fair Bones, I will pay."

"It would be unfair if I allowed you to pay all on your own."

"Moore and I ate more than you and Keith. Quantity wins," he tugged at the leather folio.

"But the nutritional quality of the food Keith and I consumed far outweighs what you and Moore ate," she pulled at the receipt.

"The guy always pays Bones."

"That's blatantly sexist and by that logic, either Keith, you, or Moore should be paying the check."

"I'll take care of it," Keith handed his credit card over the bickering couple to the expectant waitress. "It's the least I can do since you two have graciously played host for me."

The matter of payment finished, the dynamic duo sat back in their respective chairs.

"So what are you two doing the rest of the day?" Booth braced himself for the inevitable squinty dialogue.

"Dr. B is going to take me for my first day at the Jeffersonian. I'm quite excited to tour the facilities and meet the team. I think I'm going to look around for my own place this afternoon though."

"Oh really?"

Even though they had dined for less than an hour, the squintern was growing on him. He was the classic sort of squint; intelligent, but surprisingly not completely socially inept. Booth couldn't help but steam with jealously when he heard that a man was staying at Bones' place for a while. But meeting him, well…he could now breathe easily knowing that the kid wasn't competition…if they were even competing in anything…which they weren't.

"It should be quite the experience," Brennan gathered her things up. "Keith, I'll meet you at the car…give me a moment."

"Sure," the young anthropologist headed for the car, taking his credit card back from the waitress.

"What's up Bones?" he stepped closer out of concern, one of his hands brushing along her elbow.

"I-"

This wasn't the moment to tell him. This wasn't her moment. This wasn't his moment.

"I need to talk to you…tonight," she clarified. "And alone…preferably without potential for interruption."

Booth's mind and its often single-tracked nature couldn't help conjuring up a circumstance or two in which he and Bones wouldn't want to be interrupted. Of course, if this train of thought were to continue, he would have to leave work early to hit confessional.

"Well Moore is going to sleep at the hospital tonight, so why don't you come over to my place whenever you finish tonight?"

"Sounds acceptable," she turned to go before pausing mid stride. "I know you have to re-qualify today, and I just wanted to say…good luck."

"Well thanks Bones, I'll see you tonight," he smiled, leaving her at the door.

She was going to tell him…tonight…at his apartment…and she was _not_ going to back down. She was an anthropologist; she studied humans throughout history and their physical development as well as the development of their corresponding societies. Tonight had the potential to be a turning point in their relationship; one that could be for the better or for the worse.

In the best scenario, Booth accepts both her apology for turning him down, and her proposal for a more intimate relationship. This could, without her objection, precede some undoubtedly good sex. Their professional partnership would grow, not suffer, and their work would proceed in a completely normal manner. It was an idealistic thought, yes, but still entirely plausible. Of course, her own fears of attachment and such would sink nicely to the bottom like sediment, never to be worried about again.

But of course, the worst case scenario was bad enough to neutralize the goodness of her first projection. Booth could reject her, shattering the level of emotional comfort it had taken her a year to achieve. He could sever their partnership, citing conflict. He could find a woman that made him happy and would bear children with pleasing physical symmetry and median intelligence, enough to get him or her into an institution of higher learning with a partial or pull athletic scholarship. That would make him happy…

For once, Brennan's day passed at a snail's pace, and not at the slow pace in which one could savor every moment of intellectual stimulation. Keith immensely enjoyed the tour of the facilities and his introduction to the staff. Of course, Hodgins said that he would teach him of the "dark side"; but she wasn't honestly sure if he was referencing to somewhere dark or something else entirely. The other interns included him immediately, but she swore that she detected some sort of jealousy or defensiveness in Ms. Wick. While she didn't understand the psychological aspect, she did understand territorial behavior.

Evening couldn't come fast enough, usually she had to be forced out; tonight, she left more than willingly. After rushing Keith out to the parking garage, she took him by a fast food establishment to get him sustenance for the evening.

"I'm going to visit Booth," she said, dropping her work gear in the usual place.

"Oh," he dropped to the couch, pulling out a novel from his bag. "I'm game for a quiet evening."

"It is not my intention to leave you here alone-"

"I get it Dr. B," he smiled, allowing his glasses to fall lower on the bridge of his nose as he opened the book to the bookmarked page.

Now, Brennan began to slow down. During the flurry of activity that the day brought, she couldn't help but eagerly await the evening. But now, as the moment drew nearer and nearer, her agitation grew exponentially with every meter that she got closer to Booth's apartment. But her resolve was strong; stronger than her flight instinct.

It felt like only a minute or two had passed when she ended up on his curb, staring up at his illuminated window.

Step by step, she walked up to his door.

She knocked twice.

"Bones, good to have you here," he stepped aside, waving an arm in a welcoming gesture.

"I need to get this off my chest…"

"Oh, okay," he leaned against the arm of his plush couch.

"Let me preface this statement by saying that this is rather difficult for me…"

"…Uh huh…"

"I-I should just say it shouldn't I? At this point I'm speaking unnecessarily with increasing tempo-"

"You can tell me anything Bones."

"I think…I have _feelings _for you."

**- - - - - - - - - -B&B- - - - - - - - - -**

_**Please don't kill me! I hate leaving it as cliffhangers as much as you do undoubtedly do. But trust me, you won't have to wait long.**_

_**Reviews are uber welcomed and make writing much faster!**_

_**Twitter - ObjectiveMiss **_


	20. Chapter 20

_**Sorry for such a delay! And with a terrible cliff hanger no less! I'm back after an insane week of twelve hour days with time to write. I hope this makes up for the wait! It's a bit short, but I almost consider it an epilogue. Or, if you are musically inclined, it's like a pick-up note; it doesn't belong to this measure, it belongs to the next phrase.**_

_**By the way, one question Brennan asked in this chapter sent me into a singing frenzy. Extra bonus points if you can pick it out.**_

_**Twitter - ObjectiveMiss**_

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_Day -1_

**- - - - - - - - - -B&B- - - - - - - - - -**

Step by step, she walked up to his door.

She knocked twice.

"Bones, good to have you here," he stepped aside, waving an arm in a welcoming gesture.

"I need to get this off my chest…"

"Oh, okay," he leaned against the arm of his plush couch.

"Let me preface this statement by saying that this is rather difficult for me…"

"…Uh huh…"

"I-I should just say it shouldn't I? At this point I'm speaking unnecessarily with increasing tempo-"

"You can tell me anything Bones."

"I think…I have _feelings_ for you."

Booth couldn't help the involuntary rise of his eyebrows that came from her last statement. So it wasn't the exact phrasing that he had always imagined, but it was unexpected. For quite a while no, he had imagined the moment in which she would admit that she had romantic inclinations towards him, but not even his fantasies had prepared him for the actual situation occurring right in from of his eyes.

"W-Why don't you come in?" he managed, his throat constricting with sudden nervousness.

Brennan stepped over the threshold, taking only a brief moment to swing the door shut after moving out of the radius. Her shoes made the transition from the short hallway carpet, to the unstained wood of his apartment floor with an audible step. "These _feelings_," she accented that word again. "If my tone of voice conveyed any disdain with that, I apologize profusely. That is not my intent-"

He leaded up against one of the walls, still reeling. "A-Are you sure?" He couldn't deal with some sort of false alarm; to open his heart then to have it bruised would be potentially heartbreaking, no pun intended.

Her response was a heated glance, "You might want to sit down."

"Why?" he slowly lowered himself on to his couch.

"Because during some down time in Maluku, I planned this conversation out on three by five index cards."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"For the sake of saving time, let me just say that I used a copious number of the cards into what essentially became a monologue…though at the time of planning, it was a soliloquy as I was speaking only to myself."

Taking a deep breath, he sunk farther down into the couch cushions.

"I would greatly appreciate it if you would not stop be once I start…" she looked down. "I imagine that I might be unable to continue if I lose my forward momentum."

"Sure…w-would you like to sit down?" he patted the cushions next to him.

"I would prefer to stand."

Brennan swallowed hard, gathering herself. How many times had she run this fateful conversation through her head? The answer was of course, quite a few times. All she needed to be was forward and truthful; that was the most rational course of action, correct?

"W-While I was away, and while you were away, something changed." She paced back and forth, Booth was sure that if he paced back any faster, she would wear a hole straight through the floor to the apartment below. "I can point to no exact moment of epiphany or profound enlightenment, but something has…changed. Despite the fact that I was working in an excellent environment with a dream team of colleagues on a set of remains that was later named after me-"

"Wait, they named the bones after you?" he was genuinely surprised.

"Yes, _Homo Temperani_, but that's off topic and I asked that you not interrupt me."

Rather comically, he clapped his hand over his lips, before finishing with a two-fingered zipper motion across them.

"As I was saying…although I had no reason not be b completely content…I wasn't," she wiped away a tear that had sprung from the corner from her eye. "I-I missed you…but more than I should have," she looked into his eyes. "Something was wrong, something was missing. And that 'thing,' was you."

Booth felt like a fish out of water. His mouth was suddenly dry, like a dehydrated ground of a desert, cracked and barren. If he hadn't been so pleasantly surprised, his jaw would have dropped to the ground, fully dislocated.

Brennan could no longer contain "I lived for our infrequent phone calls, jus to I could hear your voice. I realized that I'm in love with you…and have been for some time now. That year that we spent apart, it did allow me to get away and gain perspective, but not in the manner of which I intended. I thought that a year away would allow the irrationality caused by romantic feelings to ebb; it did the opposite. But instead of denying and hiding these feelings, I decided to view them with objectivity…it was illogical for me to hide my feelings."

Desperately, he wanted to reach out to her; to comfort her. But it was plainly obvious that she wasn't through.

"So here I am, taking a risk. Because _you_ are worth it. I know there is no way to guarantee the longevity of any relationship, but _I don't care_. I now know that what we have is special, and it would be utterly foolish to allow it to slide through my fingers like particles of sand." With a sigh, she dropped to the couch next to him. "You know when you were in that coma, I wrote something, and I'd like you to hear it as I'm unsure if your brain processed it at the initial reading."

_"You love someone, you open yourself up to suffering – that's the sad truth. Maybe they'll break your heart, or maybe you'll break their heart and never be able to look at yourself in the same way. Those are the risks. You see two people and you think, 'they belong together,' but nothing happens. The thought of losing so much control over personal happiness is unbearable. That's the burden. Like wings, they have weight. We feel that weight on our backs but they are a burden that lifts us; a burden that allows us to fly." _

"I-I've heard that before," Booth turned to look into her deep blue eyes.

"It's true…" she broke down after that, tears freely falling.

"Shhhh," he comforted her, drawing her smaller form to his larger one. A hand smoothed over her back, rubbing reassuring circles through her shirt.

"Where do we go from here?" she said into his shoulder, her tears wetting the material.

That was a good question. He ran his other hand through his hair in thought. Where would they go from here? She had laid it all on the line; it was what he had always dreamed of. And yes, he had conjured up a wide variety of ways that their romantic relationship could start. But yet, all those mental simulations had left him curiously unprepared for this hinge moment.

Slowly the sobs that had wracked her body subsided and she pulled her face from his now damp shoulder. "Would it be appropriate if we were to kiss now?"

Only Bones would ask a question like that. He smiled, "I think it would be very appropriate."

Just as he had with their relationship, he waited for her to make the first move. Surely she did, as she leaned in for a kiss. Even as their lips drew nearer, it felt like tiny electric charges were jumping back and forth between them, sizzling in great anticipation. Finally, their lips touched, passion flowed between them. It was like a lock being opened, the obstructive doors giving way to the sheer force and power of the water. It simply felt as if the natural order of things had been restored; a man-made obstacle removed.

While the kiss only lasted for a few seconds, time seemed to augment, turning the seconds, to minutes. Despite the short duration, they couple drew back from one another, gasping for breath.

"Where do we go from here?" Booth tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear, leaving her beautiful face unobscured.

"I have an idea," she said, drawing one of her hands long the edge of a couch cushion. She was simply trying to hide her rather obvious nervousness from him.

"Shoot Bones."

"I don't have a gun…" she said apologetically.

He chuckled, "Don't really shoot me Bones; just say your idea."

"Oh," she gathered herself. "Well when one considers how much progress we have made in just a year-"

"You mean from just partners to accepting our mutual feelings?" he quirked an eyebrow.

"That sounds like something I would say."

"What can I say," he pulled her closer, "you're rubbing off on me."

"Well, as I said, we have made leaps and bounds in the last year-"

"Please don't suggest that we take another year so we can come back with a child and already be married."

"That's preposterous and-" she stopped, a smile creeping its way up her face. "You were being facetious."

"Whatever that means," he winked.

"Anyway, I propose that we take a year to evaluate and test a romantic relationship between the two of us," Brennan sat up off the back of the couch. "This way, we have a clear evaluation period so that after the year is finished, it will be easy to look back and objectively analyze how the year progressed."

"Bones, if you ever want to break up with me, you don't have to wait an entire year to do it."

"I'm confident that I won't feel that way."

She had been right; they had both changed. A year ago, Bones would have never admitted the possibility "of staying in a monogamous relationship for an extended period of time." But now, well, she was willing to take the risk. Not just for herself, but for him.

"So, we take a year as girlfriend a boyfriend, then what? We sit down and compare notes?"

"Something along the lines of that. I-I just want to do this right."

"How about we start tonight? It's officially day one of our relationship." 

"I can't help but be a little worried," she admitted.

"Bones, it will be fine. After all, it's _just a year_!"

**- - - - - - - - - -B&B- - - - - - - - - -**

_**For those of you who have guessed, yes, the sequel will be titled "Just a Year," and will (hopefully) be out very soon. If you have me on author alert you will be pinged when it comes out! It will follow our partner through the year following this.**_

_**I'd like to thank everyone who has been following this story, reviewing or not. This has been my first Bones multi-chap, and I am very proud of it!**_

_**"Just a Year" will hopefully be out shortly, and I have a one-shot or two I might write in the meantime. I also have another multi-chap in the works (very different from what I've written so far), but I won't bring that one out until it is completely finished. **_

_**I hope you enjoyed, and reviews will mean a great deal to me, and expedite the sequel. ;) Even if you haven't reviewed before, feedback will be greatly appriciated for my upcoming works! Thank you again!**_

_**Twitter - ObjectiveMiss **_


	21. Chapter 21

_**I hope you didn't miss the final chapter twenty! I thought I'd give you a quick sneak peak of what I'm planning! And, I think my accidental chapter 20 posting may have busted the alert. So here you go!**_

_**Preview for "Just a Year" chapter one:**_

**- - - - - - - - - -B&B- - - - - - - - - -**

_Day 1_

**- - - - - - - - - -B&B- - - - - - - - - -**

"Am I supposed to feel different?" Brennan looked down at her hand experimentally.

"Bones, we changed, but not that way," he chuckled.

"It's getting late," she glanced briefly down at her beloved Rolex watch, "…unless you want me to spend the night."

"As much as I would love for you to, we're not there yet. I want to do things right."


End file.
